


you burn brighter than the sun (and I'm coming undone)

by BulletStrong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Because Leopold is The Worst, But Emma and Regina are idiots in love, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Misogyny, Racism, Swan Queen - Freeform, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 103,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletStrong/pseuds/BulletStrong
Summary: Emma Swan is the young and inexperienced director of On The Dinner Table, a mediocre cooking show on the Enchanted Channel. Regina Mills is the lonely housewife of Leopold White, the CEO of Enchanted Television Corp. A pinch of fate, an ounce of circumstance and a hint of spontaneity lead to their lives becoming entwined. But with a dream job on the line and a belligerent husband in the way, their story may be a recipe for disaster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello! Thank you for clicking on my story and giving it a chance. This piece really does mean so much to me. I tried writing it several times over the years but always lost steam and ended up deleting it, but I managed to keep chipping away at it for over nine months (oh yeah, this story is basically my baby at this point) and got it done for this summer's Supernova. I'm really excited to see the reception it gets and I hope you all enjoy the journey.
> 
> A big thank you to @TLstMorgenstern, @HookedSQ, @brightclearline, and @dubcliq for reading this mess, making it presentable, and giving me so much validation that kept me going. I appreciate all of your efforts. 
> 
> Warnings applicable to this chapter: None.

The mansion is quiet when Regina wakes up and the sheets on the other side of the bed are cold. The brunette sighs, relieved that she doesn’t have to face her husband, and gets out of bed to make herself some breakfast.

 

Despite her husband making millions of dollars a year, he refuses to have a staff. Instead, he tosses those responsibilities onto Regina’s shoulders. She cooks for him and has to have his meal on the table before he gets home or he’ll become enraged with her. She cleans every square inch, even rooms they never use, because he checks to make sure everything is in order.

 

On top of it all, his resentment and anger over the fact that she can’t replace his late wife makes her life unbearable. She’s twenty-five years old. She‘s supposed to be fresh out of college, where she enjoyed studying and partying and looking forward to a prosperous future. Here, within the dozens of walls of the White family mansion, she feels like a pawn, a trophy wife, with no higher level education, no job experience, and no love.

 

She briefly thinks of Daniel and his sweet promises that were savagely ripped away as she whips up a pancake batter, but she shakes off the memories. They tend to upset her, especially when she blinks back to the present and realizes that dream has vanished and can’t ever come back.

 

She whisks the thick batter she threw together until it’s smooth then sets up the griddle on the stove and turns the flame on medium high. Suddenly, her phone pings with a notification and she already feels her mood deteriorate. The only person that contacts her is her husband and occasionally her mother when she feels like reminding Regina just why it’s in her best interest to keep the old bastard happy.

 

With a sigh, she unlocks her phone and sees a new email from her husband.

 

_To: Regina Mills_

_From: Leopold White_

_Subject: New Cooking Show_

 

 _In our haste to keep up with Food Network, we added a cooking show to our repertoire. The ratings are underwhelming. Watch_ _On The Dinner Table, review the episodes using the attached sheet as a guide, and cook each recipe for dinner, spread out over the next seven days. I expect you to follow through._

 

It’s blunt, lacking any semblance of kindness or care, and Regina feels her chest constrict, not because she cares what he thinks of her but because she’s starving for an ounce of affection and she’s stuck with a man that ends emails to her with a vague threat.

 

She’s shakes off the sadness, tosses her phone back onto the kitchen island, then turns back to the griddle to pour batter in even circular portions. She runs into the adjacent study, turns on the television, and flips to the Enchanted Channel to check their On Demand listings. As expected, they have the first seven episodes ready to playback.

 

“Episode one... The Hood Family.” She clicks on the remote to see more information. The brief summary doesn’t explain what the episode is about but it does give insight into the show’s plot. She reads out loud, “ _A show all about American families and their favorite foods. Real people teaching real recipes handed down from generation to generation. Let’s get cooking_.”

 

Regina fights an eye roll at the cliche description and downloads each episode begrudgingly. She rushes back to the kitchen to flip her pancakes, toss bacon on the back of the griddle, and scour for a small notebook in the drawers. She can follow the recipe online since they post them on the channel’s website but she prefers to take her own notes. It usually garners better results, and she just really wants to please Leo so he’ll get off her back. He’s been so moody and aggressive lately.

 

“Probably had an argument with the mistress.” She grumbles under her breath as she looks through a mass of clutter in the drawer by the sink. Although she can’t help but feel some twisted appreciation for the secretary he bangs on the side. She’s decreased the amount of times Regina has had to pleasure him. Now, for the most part, he comes home exhausted and spent, and doesn’t have the energy to leer at her, let alone push for more.

 

She finds an old notebook in the drawer by the refrigerator. She fingers the pages as she scowls at her step daughters name etched onto the cover, right next to giant block lettering that spells out _MATH_ . She flips through it and finds it’s mostly unused. She tears out the pages covered in high school level algebra and finds a thick black marker to obscure the name and subject on the cover. With a small triumphant grin, she neatly prints her name on the center of the cover, along with block lettering that spells out _RECIPES_.

 

By the time she plates her breakfast and brings everything into the study, episodes one through four have fully downloaded onto her DVR. She settles into the sofa, snuggling into the cushions and throwing a quilted blanket over her legs, then places her plate onto her lap so she can eat while she watches.

 

“Here we go.” She presses play on the first episode as she nibbles on a piece of bacon. The screen brightens with an outdoor shot of a brick home with white shuttered windows then transitions to the interior kitchen, where a man is sitting at the center island. He seems familiar but she can’t exactly pinpoint why.

 

 _“Oh, hello!”_ The man exclaims awkwardly, likes he’s trying to act surprised. Regina snickers at the television and rips a piece of pancake to pop it into her mouth. The man smiles—Regina thinks it’s suppose to be charming— then says, _“I’m Robin Hood. Welcome to my kitchen.”_

 

The episode moves at a fast pace, which is a godsend. Robin Hood is a dull character. He seems more interested in charming the audience and it makes each scene cringeworthy. The saving grace is his wife, Marian Hood, and his adorable son, Roland Hood. Marian is naturally charismatic and her appearances flow smoothly. Her bright white smile is wide and her voice is high pitched and full of energy, but her blue eyes are dull, like she isn’t happy to be there. The more she analyzes, the more she notices just how out of sync Robin and Marian are. They barely interact unless absolutely necessary. Roland only appears once but he’s a sweet boy that brings a smile to Regina’s lips. She’s not sure why the Hoods were made the main family of the very first episode, not when first impressions are so crucial to a show’s success.

 

When the screen goes dark, Regina pauses the television before the next episode can start so she can quickly go print the episode review sheet that Leo had attached to the email. She prints seven out and snags a pen from the desk. With a piece of bacon in hand to munch on, she reads through the questions and sincerely tries to give honest and helpful answers that will hopefully aid those on set.

 

The rest of the episodes follow the same pattern. Though the show is slightly entertaining, most of the chefs are similar, bringing nothing new or innovative to the program, and the same set is used each time, which removes the possible quirks or uniqueness that each chef _could_ possess. She jots down her general critiques on the margins of the last page of her notebook. She’s hoping Leo will actually listen to her.

 

A sharp chime from the grandfather clock breaks her concentration. She looks at her phone’s locked screen to see it’s already late afternoon. Regina curses under her breath. Leo will be home within the hour and she hasn’t even started dinner.

 

With her heart beating hard against her ribs, she dials a familiar number.

 

“Granny’s Diner. How may I help you?” The owners granddaughter announces merrily.

 

“Miss Lucas, I need two orders of meat loaf as soon as possible.” Regina anxiously paces around the study as she chews on her cuticle. It’s a nervous tick she’s never grown out of.

 

Ruby sighs sympathetically. She’s gotten so many of these desperate phone calls from the older brunette. Even at the tender age of sixteen, Ruby knows abuse when she sees it. She knows it too well, actually. “Regina, you know he hates meat loaf.” She taps her pen against the countertop in contemplation, trying to remember a dish he loved. She straightens as she remembers a conversation they had a month ago. “What about the lasagna? You said he seemed to like it.”

 

“Yes... alright.” Regina stops pacing to lean against the arm of the couch. “As soon as possible... please.” Regina whispers the plea under her breath, but it still rings in Ruby’s ear. Regina hardly ever begs, mostly because it makes her feel even weaker, but the Lucas family has been a godsend for her.

 

“Of course.” Ruby assures.

 

Even though she knows Ruby usually beats Leo to the house (The young girl knows what can happen if she fails because she’s seen the bruises on Regina’s wrists and arms afterward), there’s still a pit of fear growing in Regina’s abdomen with each minute that passes and it only grows when the front door opens and slams shut.

 

There’s shuffling, removing of shoes and a blazer, and Regina stands frozen. She swivels to run into the kitchen but stops short when she sees Ruby waving at her frantically through the glass door that leads to the back porch. Quietly, knowing Leo is somewhere in the house, she slides the glass door open and thanks Ruby under her breath. The poor girl climbed over the backyard fence for her. A surge of affection for the teen spreads and she tries to smile. Ruby returns it but it’s laced with a bit of anxiety.

 

“Go on.” Ruby shoos her back through the doorway. “Go plate the food.”

 

The kitchen, unsurprisingly, is empty when she tip toes in. Leo never steps foot in this part of the house. He once argued that the kitchen is a woman’s place in the home. _Bastard_ , Regina grumbles internally as she removes two styrofoam containers from the brown bag embossed with Granny’s logo. She carefully takes each portioned piece of lasagna and places it on the center of the plate then drizzles some sauce around the perimeter for decoration.

 

She rips off two pieces of basil from the clay pot in the windowsill and lays it on top for garnish. She takes a step back and inspects her work with her head tilted.

 

“It’ll have to do.” She whispers as she pulls a bottle of Leo’s favorite wine from the rack over the countertop.

 

Just as she finishes pouring some wine into Leo’s glass and water into her own (he doesn’t think a _lady_ should drink), she hears clomping of slippers against the hardwood right outside the kitchen.

 

“Regina, why isn’t dinner out yet?” Leo’s tone holds just enough edge to make her cringe at her misstep. He’s obviously picky tonight.

 

“I apologize. I was just pouring you some wine.” She answers. She lifts his wine glass and plate into her hands and nervously shuffles toward the door to the dining room, only stopping to check her reflection in the mirror.

 

She clears her throat when she slips through the door. He’s already sitting at the head of the table, whipping his napkin open to fold it over his lap, and doesn’t even acknowledge her presence until she slides the plate in front of him.

 

He inspects it then peers at her over his glasses. “Lasagna and my wine...” Regina freezes, waiting for the verdict. “It’s not a dish from _On The Dinner Table_.”

 

“Oh, I—“ She’s cut off by his humorless chuckle.

 

“Start tomorrow then?” He prompts. It’s not really an actually question, more of a demand that better be met. She nods hesitantly as she slowly turns back to the kitchen so she can retrieve her own meal.

 

She leans her hands against the kitchen counter with her head hanging. She’s breathing too quickly and suddenly feels nauseous even though she hasn’t eaten anything in hours.

 

Her fingers twitch toward the drawers where the knives are but a booming, agitated voice startles her out of her panic. “Am I supposed to eat this with my bare hands like a barbarian?”

 

Instead of analyzing whatever the hell just happened, Regina grabs two knives and forks and races back to Leo, who’s staring at her with enough malice to make her queasy. She wants to make it better, she needs to, because she can’t handle another night of tension.

 

“I reviewed every episode.” She blurts out as she places his utensils next to his plate.

 

The shift in conversation appeases him, at least for now, and the food distracts him just long enough for her to catch her breath. Nothing is said for few moments. The only sounds reverberating through the room is the scraping of metal on porcelain and slight pops from Leopold. He smacks his lips after every bite. It grates on her nerves.

 

“Any _useful_ feedback?” He asks after his third bite.

 

“Well... perhaps you could shoot the episode at the homes of the chefs?”  When he quirks a pensive brow, she rushes forward, “I think that could make them seem more unique or interesting.”

 

“It’d be too costly to move the workers and equipment across the country every week.” It's a clear dismissal and Regina shrinks inward. He somehow always manages to make her feel inferior, even when she knows what she’s saying to be true. He hums as he sips on his wine.

 

Regina clears her throat. “Perhaps the show could highlight different kinds of people. All the chefs so far are... quite similar.”

 

He visibly hardens at that and now she’s wondering what she could’ve said to make him look so pissed off. He points his knife at her with a sneer. “ _We want classic and traditional American families_.”

 

He says it like he’s already had this argument before, emphasizing every word like he’s trying to convinced himself of it. She looks away, down at her plate, but she hears him grunt, “That Director doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

 

With some trepidation, she lifts her gaze and asks, “Director?”

 

Leo slices a piece of lasagna and impales it with his fork forcefully, so much so that the table shakes. “That _Swan_ _girl_ that Snow begged me to hire. We stuck her on this project, hoping it’d be too simply to screw up, but she’s been fighting me tooth and nail on every damn thing, like _she_ knows what’s best for _my_ show.”

 

Regina finds she admires this girl without even knowing her. In the year she’s been married to this tyrant, she’s never had the courage to stand up to him. Not once. But this director keeps standing up for what she thinks needs to be done. In Regina’s eyes, the girl is quite feisty to be taking on her boss, but her work has been up to snuff. Each episode was directed beautifully.

 

“What has she been saying?” She questions. Her tone is just a little bit too curious because he glares at her, but he answers anyway, probably because he’s been wanting to rant about it.

 

“I was informed that she contacted a chef that’s an amputee. I immediately shut that down and ordered her to run all prospects through me. I clearly specified the kind of chefs I wanted and she knowingly went against my orders.” Leo swipes his mouth with his napkin. Regina can’t help but feel her heart pang for the young girl that just wanted to be inclusionary in an environment that’s so stifling. Leo drops the dirty cloth back onto his lap. “I know what my viewers want. She’s just an insolent child with a power high.”

 

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’s a viewer and wants what the director was going to bring to the table, but she deflates under the weight of his stare. “Yes, of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

_To: Emma Swan_

_From: Leopold White_

_Subject: Prospective Chefs_

 

_Miss Swan, I was informed you extended an invitation to a chef that doesn’t fit the profile given to you by Sidney Glass. Marian Hood is not the type of talent we want or need. Thankfully Mister Hood made it work with that actress from the agency. Follow our script or prepare for unemployment._

 

    

* * *

 

 

“Jones, lift the damn camera! I need to see her face!” Emma yells across the room at her cameraman and, before she can even finish the sentence, the live feed on her screen bounces then shifts from the chefs boobs to her face.

 

The female chef in the kitchen grimaces but snaps back into character fairly quickly, which Emma silently thanks her for. Her pervert of a cameraman has wasted enough film as it is and Emma doesn’t need the powers that be on her ass over misuse of budget _again_. Her sound guy, David Nolan, pats her shoulder and tries to hide a snicker.

 

The chef begins cooking some Greek dish while showing as much charisma as she can muster, which isn’t much but she knows her food and her voice has lilts to it so Emma’s confident people won’t flip the channel on her episode. Most loyal fans will begrudgingly watch it over and over while they wait for the next installment.

 

“She looks exactly like the chef we filmed for episode one.” David mentions flippantly as the chef’s husband enters the frame on screen and acts surprised to find his wife cooking his favorite meal.

 

“The actress we filmed, you mean.“ Emma spots the husband standing out of frame, “Robert, just scoot in closer to Marie so we can get both of you in the shot.” He shuffles into frame and Emma shoots him a thumbs up before turning back to David. “Yeah, Leo’s been a pain in my ass lately. _We want classic American families, Emma, not that diversity crap social justice warriors keep writing in about.”_

 

“He called diversity crap?” David scoffs as he fiddles with microphone he’s holding over the cooking couples head to make sure it doesn’t show on film.

 

“Mhmm, he almost had a coronary when I suggested an Asian couple last week.” Emma whispers, trying not to throw Marie and Robert off their groove. “He basically threatened to fire me if I don’t get in line with his views.”

 

“I’m sorry, Emma. I know how much you wanted to do something special with this show.” David says sincerely.

 

Emma told him on her first day that she was looking to do something different, something that is inclusionary and modern, but since then, those hopes fizzled out. Leo White, her very rich and powerful boss, wants _traditional_ and _classic_ , which sounds eerily close to _I’m an old white guy trapped in the eighteen hundreds_.

 

She tried appealing to his business side with promises that inclusion brings more viewers and therefore more advertisers, but apparently his racist and homophobic sides championed that conversation. He basically forbade her from hiring chefs without his consent after she sent an inquiry email to a chef with a prosthetic leg.

 

Her attention is suddenly snagged by the feed from Jones’ camera moving away from Marie’s hands chopping ingredients to zoom in on her bouncing breasts. With agitation, Emma calls cut, inciting several loud groans across the studio.

 

“Jones, come here!” She aggressively thrusts her pointer finger at the ground in front of her and Jones angrily stomps his way to her, a defiance in his gait that makes Emma a bit nervous.

 

She’s just out of college, has zero experience with directing, even if it’s been a dream of hers for so long, and, so far, she feels like she’s bossing around people that are way more experienced in the field. Most of her coworkers are kind about it. They teach her tricks to the trade and tell her everyone needs their big break, unless you’re like Leo White and inherit a corporation.

 

She isn’t confident in her directing skills, but one thing she is confident about is her skill at fighting off men with aggression issues. So, just as Jones rounds the last camera man to turn toward her, she stands from her directing chair and straightens to fill height. David puts his microphone down, like he’s ready to intervene.

 

“What the hell, Swan?” He spits out when he nears her, his finger jutting out to poke her on the chest. She stares at his hand with mild distaste, but tries to remain calm. “I have a shit ton of experience in this field and you keep trying to undercut me!”

 

“Firstly,” Emma drawls condescendingly, “You’re not in the porn industry anymore, Jones. The money shot is face and hands here, so stop aiming the camera at her tits.” Marie shudders from behind Jones and Emma throws an apologetic look her way before continuing. “Secondly, it’s my fucking job to tell you how to shoot the scene! It’s my vision, not yours!”

 

Jones scoffs derisively, “Oh please, you got this job because you’re mates with White’s princess! You don’t deserve this position!”

 

“Well, that’s not up to you, is it?” Emma hisses. His words hit her like a ton of bricks, smashing every insecurity she’s got, but instead of breaking down, she’s getting pissed. She glances at David then the two other cameramen and asks, “Do I have the authority to fire him?”

 

The two cameramen look at each other with scrunched brows and Emma groans, “Right. I should probably know the answer to that.”

 

David leans in to whisper, “You have the authority to fire him, Emma.”

 

So with an agitated rush of energy, Emma snaps, “You’re fired!”

 

Jones leaps forward with a gruff screech and tries to wrap his meaty paws around Emma’s throat but David is faster and manages to wrangle him to the ground.

 

Jones is escorted off the premises after a lengthy tug of war over a fruit basket between him and the two security guards that were called to remove him. By the time that’s done, Emma’s headache is becoming unbearable, but the show must go on. So she picks up Jones’ discarded camera and manages to direct Marie and Robert through their last three scenes then capture some outdoor shots for transitions from commercials.

 

The show will come together in time. They have sufficient footage to splice together a domestic and cutesy episode about a young white couple still in their honeymoon phase of marriage.

 

With a bit of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, Emma saunters up to the couple as they pack up their things. “Marie, Robert, thank you for sticking with us. I know things got a little sketchy for while, but the episode will be beautiful. That’s my personal promise to you.”

 

Robert chuckles as he runs his fingers through his dark hair. “I didn’t know showbiz was this cutthroat, but I’m glad we agreed to film with you.”

 

“You did well, Miss Swan.” Marie praises with a stunning smile as she squeezes Emma’s bicep. “Don’t let that guy get you down.”

 

“Jones?” Emma grins. “I won’t give him a second thought.” She shakes Robert’s hand then gives Marie a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you. Have a safe flight.”

 

As she walks out to the connected high rise parking garage, she overhears two assistants celebrating Emma’s decision to let Jones go.

 

“He was a fucking asshole.” The lanky brunette exclaims before taking a drag from her cigarette.

 

“Yeah, the director was such a _boss_.” The younger assistant grins. Emma smiles at her as she passes them on her way to her car, even though they can’t see her since she’s walking in the unlit section of the parking garage.

 

The high of the day fizzles quickly when she steps into her quiet, empty apartment in the heart of Manhattan. She spends her entire day surrounded by people, talking to people, directing people, but when she comes home, she’s alone. There’s no one to ask about her day and praise her for her accomplishments. The only person she has is Snow, her bosses daughter and her former roommate, but Snow just got accepted for an internship at the White House and has been way too preoccupied to make time for her friend, which is shitty but it’s reality.

 

She stares at the dimly lit apartment for a second, letting the silence ring in her ears, then throws her keys into the bowl on the wooden stand by the door. She hangs up her red leather jacket, which has been such good luck lately, and unzips her boots so she can wiggle her toes against the carpet under her feet.

 

She checks the time on her phone and sees it’s past ten at night. Most restaurants in the area stop delivering around nine so take out isn’t an option. “Grilled cheese it is.”

 

She grabs the items she’ll need and tosses them on the counter beside the stove. She’s made this meal too many times to count so her method is efficient and pretty quick. So she’s munching on the cheesy sandwich while checking her emails within five minutes.

 

“Junk, junk, coupon, junk. A Pornhub advertisement... Big Brother knows me so well.” She freezes when she spots her bosses name in her inbox. Mister White sent it thirty minutes ago, which is fairly rare since the old coot is usually unreachable after eight pm. With some anxiety thrumming through her veins, she taps on the email.

 

_To: Emma Swan_

_From: Leopold White_

_Subject: Change of Venue_

 

_Miss Swan, I thought long and hard about how to improve our ratings and it struck me that the set is too frigid and bland. Because of this, starting immediately, we will film in the homes of the chefs. Plan accordingly._

 

_Have a list of prospective chefs in my inbox by Monday morning._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Finding chefs willing to film in their homes is much harder than Emma thought it’d be. Two prospects she had lined up dropped their interest when she updated them on these new changes. While she could’ve shoved this task on someone else, she likes the control.

 

“Hello, this is Emma Swan from _On The Dinner Table_ , a cooking show highlighting real American chefs and their families. Is Chef French around?” She tilts her head to smush the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she paces in front of her couch.

 

“One moment please—“

 

“No, no, no—“ Emma’s protest is interrupted by a loud click then jazz music. She slams her fist into her desk with a growl, “Damn it!”

 

That’s the fourth time she’s been put on hold today. Most employees think she’s come telemarketer or something and hang up before she can even introduce herself but if she gets past that, they end up leaving her on hold and letting the call drop on its own. She’s tried getting people all weekend but nothing has planned out. Now it’s the night before her deadline and she’s not sure what she’s going to do.

 

Emma clicks on her email to check over her old potential chefs, already hoping that someone will actually listen to her this time, but she smiles when she sees a message from her old college roommate.

 

_To: Emma Swan_

_From: Fa Mulan_

_Subject: Hey There Fellow Gay_

 

_It’s been a while... sorry about that! But I just wanted to clue you in before you saw anything on Facebook. Aurora and I got engaged! Can you fucking believe she wanted to be with me forever?_

 

_Anyway, message me back. I miss your ass._

 

Emma’s not really shocked by the news. During their early college years, she walked in on Mulan and Aurora at least a good forty times (they apparently never got the hang of the sock on the door knob thing) and they were basically inseparable. Even when they were angry with each other, they’d sit together in Mulan and Emma’s dorm in silence, needing to not speak so they didn’t say something they didn’t mean but knowing they’d rather be stewing angrily together.

 

Mulan has had her life together for so long and her relationship with Aurora is almost picture perfect—Emma jolts—or _camera ready_.

 

Suddenly, she gets possibly the best, maybe worst, idea she’s ever had. There’s a good chance Leo would kill her, bring her back to life so he could fire her, then kill her all over again. This job is a great opportunity but was it worth wallowing in mediocrity? Emma’s inclined to say no, even though many will tell her she’s crazy to jeopardize this cushy job.

 

She’s going to need help to pull it off, but her team loves her, they’re just as upset with the monotony and stringent rules Leopold enforces, and the guys at the editing office would totally go behind Leo’s back. She’s overheard them smack talking the boss, so they hate the old guy just as much as she does. With that thought in mind, she starts typing.

 

_To: Fa Mulan_

_From: Emma Swan_

_Subject: Hey There Fellow Gay_

 

_Congratulations! Can’t say I’m surprised though. You two are like a gay fairytale... which is way better than a straight one ;)_

 

_So, you’re going to think I’m crazy but I need your help with something..._

 

* * *

 

 

Regina manages to cook every recipe without incident throughout the week, even the one from the latest episode with Chef Marie. Leo has been pleased with each dish, but, more importantly, he works all day and keeps leaving after dinner, most likely to be with his mistress. Not that she’s complaining. In fact, Regina’s had the bed to herself for days and she hasn’t felt so rested in such a long time.

 

Before she knows it, it’s Monday afternoon and the new episode is sitting on her DVR, which is set to record each new episode. She clicks on it. _Chef Fa Mulan_. Regina quirks a brow.

 

“An Asian woman?” She whispers quizzically. Leo was so adamant about the chefs fitting his agenda, which was _really_ white. Perhaps the director finally convinced him to try something different from the show’s norm? He seemed dead set on it but she supposed the Swan girl, if persistent, could possibly wear him down.

 

With barely contained excitement, she presses play and lifts her legs to tuck them under her. The scene opens to a new house, not the unchanging set usually shown, and it slowly cuts to, as expected, a kitchen she hasn’t seen before. The room is painted in deep reds and stark oranges and the decor is homely. There’s mismatched plates stacked by the sink and cups are hanging from the hooks on the underside of the cabinets. Regina’s in awe of a home so warm. It’s an environment she’s never lived in. Her childhood home wasn’t her playground. It was a crisp reminder that Cora wanted more than cartoons on Sundays and crayons littering the coffee table. Cora wanted power and prestige, and a child had no business being raised into that... but alas, here she is.

 

A young woman with long black hair steps into frame and Regina’s immediately taken by the happiness shining clearly on her face. She waves at the camera and Regina already likes her. This woman, in her own environment, was enchanting. Did Leopold actually listen to her critiques and later realize he reacted too quickly?

 

“Hi, everyone. I’m Fa Mulan and I’m not a chef.” The young Chinese woman smiles beautifully and Regina feels her own lips stretch in response. “I’ve never worked in a kitchen but I do have a passion for food, especially the recipes my grandmother and mother passed down. You know, moving to the United States was hard and a disconnect grew between the older and younger generations, who were learning English and losing their Chinese and… I didn’t want to lose my connection. Food was the bridge between us and _that_ fueled my passion for cooking.” Mulan lifts a tattered book and opens it to show the audience the scribbled letters on a page. “This recipe right here is my favorite because it was the dish I made every weekend with my _nai nai_.”

 

Regina leans toward the television so her eyes can roam across the words she can’t read. Mulan underlines a few letters with her finger and translates, “Sweet and sour pork.”

 

Regina nods as she picks up her recipe notebook and prepares her pen. Mulan lowers the recipes and quirks a brow at the audience. “I know you’ve probably had this dish from takeout places and, in my experience, it’s just not the same. Homemade takes the cake on this one. Let me show you how my grandma did it.”

 

Mulan prepares her mise en place while telling a story about her family lineage, how her grandparents came to America because of the one-child policy. They already had a son when they became pregnant with their daughter, Mulan’s mother, so they came to the United States. Regina soaks up all the information with interest.

 

“Now, the key is marinating the pork cubes for at least an hour in the fridge. It’ll allow that flavor to strengthen while also tenderizing the meat.” Mulan mixes her pork with salt, sugar, and soy sauce then adds some eggs and green onions before covering the bowl and sticking it in her disorganized refrigerator. She then pulls out a bowl that was already inside. “I have some pork ready. The magic of cooking shows is instant gratification.”

 

Regina chuckles at that, loving that Mulan is teasing and has a natural knack for the camera, and tries to listen intently for further instruction but she’s suddenly thrown by the sound of the front door slamming so hard that the walls rattle.

 

“ _That little bitch should never work in this business again!”_ Regina flinches at the fury in Leo’s voice. There’s a pause then, _“Snow, she went behind my back, disobeyed orders, and somehow aired something I would’ve never approved!”_

 

Regina suddenly feels like she’s doing something wrong by even watching this and shrinks into the cushions as Mulan dredges the pork in cornstarch. She quickly mutes the television and listens to Leo’s quick pacing in the front entryway.

 

 _“Let me be clear here, Snow. If I decide not to kick her ass out of a job, the only reason is you. She’s an insubordinate, no-good piece of shit. You understand me?”_ Regina’s never heard Leo speak so harshly to his precious daughter. Beneath her quivering fear is some smugness that Snow now sees who her father really is.

 

Leo stomps into the study and simply plants his hands on the top of the couch and stares at the screen, where Mulan is frying pork cubes, with disdain. He lifts his hand to wipe his lips with three fingers.

 

Regina carefully turns to look at him and asks the obvious. “So the director went behind your back?”

 

Leo mutters under his breath, “I don’t know how she did this.”

 

Regina clears her throat nervously. She’s not sure why she wants to defend these women, the director and Mulan, so fiercely, but she pushes aside her own anxiety. “The episode has been very pleasant. Perhaps my favorite so far.”

 

Leo scoffs, “Of course it is.”

 

“She seems like a lovely—“

 

“Regina, be _quiet_.” He hisses. She shrinks back. “You—“ He raises his head in a flourish but freezes when his eyes catch twin movements on the muted television. She tentatively twists to look at what spooked him.

 

Mulan has her arm around another young girl. The Chinese woman smiles adoringly at the petite brunette in her arms. Blue eyes look back with just as much admiration. Regina’s heart beats against her ribs with too much force as Leo rounds the couch to snatch the remote from Regina’s grip and remove the mute.

 

“I knew I had to invite my fiancée, Aurora, to the—“ Mulan’s sentence is cut off when Leo slams the mute button with a resounding growl. He’s turning beet red, clutching the remote so tightly the plastic creaks under the pressure, and Regina subconsciously shrinks into the corner of the couch.

 

She’s never seen him this rattled. There’s a small part of her that’s enjoying his unraveling, even if she may experience the backlash. Regina knows how hard it is to stand up for what you believe when the odds are against you. This Swan girl has a backbone. It makes her admire this woman she doesn’t truly know. A woman that she’d like to know.

 

Regina watches silently as Leo throws the remote onto the couch cushion and disappears into his office across the hall from the study. Her heart slows just a bit when the door slams shut. If he’s locked in his office, he’s not near her and probably won’t turn his anger on her for this. She feels a twinge of anxiety for Miss Swan, however, especially when she hears him barking down the phone at Sidney Glass for Swan’s number.

 

Regina reaches for the remote, holds it to her chest, then stares at the screen. Mulan and Aurora are cooking together. They’re obviously joking and teasing, bumping their shoulders and hips whenever they’re near each other, and Regina is drawn to them. When Mulan grabs Aurora by the hips and places a lovely peck on waiting lips, there’s a dull ache in her chest and a pull in her abdomen.  She startles at the feeling and shuts the television off hurriedly.

 

She doesn’t get much time to ponder what the hell just happened because Leo’s voice radiates through his door. _“I should have your head for this, you hear me? You’ll never make it in this business! If it weren’t for my daughter, you’d be fired, you street rat!”_ Leo’s voice lowers and Regina can’t decipher the words. After a minute of angry whispers, she hears Leo sputter incredulously. _“Don’t you take that fucking tone with me! The ratings will tell us exactly how idiotic this scheme was! I’m sending Robin Hood to set from now on and he’s going to watch you like a damn hawk, Swan!”_ A pause. _“You’ll get in line or I’ll put you in line, got it?”_

 

Then the house falls silent. She can imagine him cutting the call while the young director yells back adamantly. Leo might’ve found his match with this woman. Regina can’t contain a small grin so she hides behind the back of the couch when Leo storms out of his office and up the stairs, presumably to shower. He likes to clean up before he goes to his mistress’ apartment.

 

But then she thinks about the harsh words Leo just spewed at the young director and there’s an inexplicable pull to tell her... tell her something that could ease the sting. This mindless pull is the only thing that can explain why Regina’s sneaking into Leo’s office, checking the recent calls on his phone, and jotting down the number at the top that’s listed under the name _Emma Swan_.

 

“Regina?” Leo’s bark from the top of the staircase makes her scramble, stuffing the post it with _Emma’s_ number into her bra and quietly running out of the office. She closes his double doors and makes it three steps toward the stairs before he appears at the bottom step. He stares at her incredulously. “I called your name several times. Are you _deaf_?”

 

Regina hates him so passionately, in a way that’s so unhealthy, but she’s doing this for a reason and she can’t fuck this up. So she shakes her head and mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

 

He doesn’t look assuaged but he checks his watch before patting his pockets. “Where did I leave my damn phone?”

 

“In your office.” Regina replies, too quickly and with too much confidence, but the old bastard doesn’t pay her much mind. He never does. This time, she’s grateful.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma is on the verge of a panic attack, like a hardcore can’t-breath-and-really-nauseous kind of panic, but she’s trying to stay grounded and _inhale_ a grilled cheese sandwich before her stomach can even protest.

 

She’s been chewed out many times in her life, in juvenile detention and foster homes and by her social worker and pretty much every judge on the eastern seaboard, but she’s never felt so defeated. Leopold White, asshole extraordinaire, hit every soft spot Emma has with startling accuracy and Snow, who she expected to have on her side despite the fact Leo’s her father, scolded her for ten minutes and closed her tirade by telling Emma this refusal to get on the bandwagon is why she’s had so much trouble throughout her life. Cause the whole parents-left-me-on-the-side-of-the-road-and-in-the-hands-of-the-government thing apparently didn’t contribute.

 

She’s so out of sorts that she doesn’t feel any satisfaction when Mulan texts her that the show trended on Twitter.

 

_The gays love us, Emma! It’s almost like our single days on campus all over again :’)_

 

She lowers her forehead to the table top and taps it lightly against the glass until it starts to throb. This should feel like a victory. She was right all along. The audience wants diversity and representation of all (and cute Asian lesbians apparently). But her victory comes at a painful cost. There’s no way Leo will change his mind about casting, so her stunt doesn’t make anything better... and why the hell didn’t anyone stop her, for fucks sake?

 

Her pained groan is undercut by her phone’s obnoxiously loud ringtone. Her hand searches the table around her head until it feels cold plastic. She doesn’t bother checking the caller ID. It’s probably Mulan wanting to read her some of the tweets she finds hysterical.

 

She turns her head toward the wall, the glass flattening her cheek and deafening her right ear, and places the phone on her free ear. “Hello?”

 

“Yes, hello...” A feminine voice replies slowly, tentatively, and Emma jerks at the unfamiliar sound. “Is this Emma Swan?”

 

“Listen, lady,” She drawls impatiently, “I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

 

“No! No... I’m—I’m not selling anything.” The deep voice assures, though the cadence is still slightly shaky. “I just wanted to tell you that the episode was beautiful and really very important... and you’re quite special for standing up for what you believe.” The voice whispers unsurely but it hits Emma like a ton of bricks. The tears drop from her eyelashes and she sniffs. The other woman sighs, “I’m sorry if this is out of line. I just... thought you might need to hear that.”

 

“Who are you?” Emma demands gruffly. She furiously wipes at her wet cheeks with her t-shirt. The other woman inhales a little sharply but before she can say anything, Emma interjects with, “And how did you get my number?”

 

“My name is Regina.” There’s a pause and Emma presses the phone against her ear so hard that the edge of it indents the cartilage, as if she’ll hear _Regina_ more clearly if she does. “I got your phone number from my husbands phone.”

 

Emma reels back. “Oh man, listen, I swear I didn’t sleep with your husband or anything, alright? I pray to pussy, if you catch my drift.”

 

An amused snort floats through the line. For some reason, it warms her. Regina then laughs quietly and says, “Good to know.” Emma pretends her cheeks aren’t turning a lovely shade of pink. Regina swallows the rest of her laughter, though her smile doesn’t leave her lips. “I know you aren’t sleeping with my husband. Rest assured.”

 

“Who’s your husband though?” Emma asks bluntly. As much as she’s weirdly enjoying this conversation, the facts are a little blurry and she’d like to be sure she doesn’t have some stalker.

 

Regina contemplates how to answer. The truth may scare Emma off but a lie becomes a tangled web she’s sure she doesn’t want to weave. Emma waits patiently, though her nerves increase with every silent second that passes. Luckily, Regina gains the courage to respond before her panic attack takes over. “My husband is Leopold White.”

 

Emma flies out of her chair in shock, knocking it over. “Oh my god, Mrs. White—“

 

“Mills.” Regina corrects like she always does. It’s a habit, one she’ll never attempt to rid herself of. She’s not a part of the White family... never was and never will be. “It’s Regina Mills.”

 

Emma nods slowly. The woman on the phone doesn’t sound snooty, pompous, or any of the other adjectives she uses to describe rich people. Regina has shown her nothing but kindness. With disbelief coloring her tone, she asks, “So... you called to, what? Cheer me up?”

 

“I heard how my husband spoke to you tonight on the phone and,” Regina closes her eyes in embarrassment, “I just thought I’d call.”

 

Emma walks over to her couch and snuggles into cushions. Without knowing, she’s mirroring Regina’s exact position from hundreds of miles away.

 

“Thank you.” Emma whispers kindly, with complete sincerity. She must be feeling relaxed or something because she finds herself saying, “This is actually nice.”

 

Regina sinks deeper into her cushions and rolls to face the back of the couch. Her nose skims the stitching of the design on the fabric.  “A random stranger calling you at night is nice?”

 

“We’re not strangers anymore, right?” Emma asks cheekily and receives a small chuckle. She sobers when Regina’s laugh fades. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if that someone is the wife of my arch nemesis.”

 

“Hmm, I suppose.” She murmurs. Truthfully, she’s enjoying their interaction. She’s so isolated in this mansion, with no step daughter to mess with and no staff to befriend, and the silence becomes too much. “I do have a question.”

 

“Ask away.” Emma sticks up her finger as she retracts, “Well, I can decline to answer but you know what I mean.”

 

Regina turns onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “What made you decide to go behind Leo’s back?”

 

For a few seconds, Emma wonders if this is some set up by Leo to catch details of how this all happened, like maybe the old fucker is sitting right beside his wife, listening to all of this and taking notes, but she shakes it off and goes for a cautious approach to this.

 

“Honestly?” Emma puffs out a breath. “I didn’t have a chef for the episode, no one was answering my calls, and the deadline was closing in on me. It was a moment of insanity but then... it felt right. It felt like I was doing something meaningful, inspirational, and isn’t that what television is supposed to be?”

 

Regina smiles at the passion she can hear in the director's voice. “You’re going to do great things, Miss Swan.” Regina whispers breathily and Emma feels a warmth spread across her body. For a moment, she believes it.

 

“I hope so...” Emma snorts, “You think Leo saw the show trending on Twitter?”

 

Regina quirks her brow. She wasn’t aware that the episode was such a success, but she hopes that’ll change how things are done, even if it’ll require Leo to grit his teeth to get through it. Times are changing and he can get with it or sink. “He doesn’t know much about technology. My stepdaughter taught him how to navigate his smartphone last year. Before that, he still had a flip phone.”

 

“Oh my god,” Emma chuckles. This conversation just keeps getting better and better. “I have to say that flip phones have their pluses, like when you were angry, it was satisfying to slam that phone shut to end the call. Now, it’s a shitty thumb tap.”

 

“Oh, of course, and you know Leo loved to slam his phone shut. Any way to manifest his anger.” Regina regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth but Emma eases her worry when she snorts.

 

“Yeah, he seems the type.” Emma replies through a deep yawn. It’s been a long day and her temples are starting to throb from crying most of the afternoon. Regina’s been forcing her eyes open, not wanting to fall asleep on her... acquaintance? Friend?

 

“I should let you get some sleep.” Regina pulls her phone away so she can yawn. Those etiquette classes her mother forced her to take still have her programmed.

 

“Yeah, I’m exhausted.” Emma sits up on the couch and stretches her muscles. “But can I ask you something real quick?”

 

“Fire away.” Regina forces her mouth shut to deter a yawn.

 

“Snow is kind of a brat, right?” She asks bluntly and Regina guffaws.

 

“Isn’t Snow your friend?”

 

“Oh, she is. I really do like her...” Emma enunciates, “ _but_ she’s kind of self centered sometimes and it’s a miracle I haven’t ripped my hair out yet.”

 

Regina shakes her head with a grin. “Yes, she’s _quite_ the handful.”

 

“Thank god I’m not the only one that feels this way.” Emma sighs dramatically. The playfulness is like zap to her system and she’s suddenly wide awake, but Regina sounds drowsy. “I’ll let you go. Maybe...”

 

“Maybe?” Regina prompts.

 

“Never mind.” Emma cringes. As if a rich woman would ever want to have daily or weekly conversations with a _street rat_ like her. She shakes off that thought and fakes a smile even though Regina can’t see her.

 

“Oh.” Regina shoves away her disappointment. She’s not even sure what she had been hoping for but Emma’s dismissal still feels like a loss. “Well, goodnight then, Miss Swan.”

 

“Goodnight, _Miss Mills_.” Emma teases then ends the call with a smirk. A few states over, Regina pulls her knees to her chest, presses her head into the small throw pillow, and wishes Emma Swan was someone she could know, for reasons she doesn’t even understand.

 

* * *

 

 

The weeks after their first phone call fly by in monotony. Regina still watches _On The Dinner Table_ , which is back to its old format because of Leo’s spite and bitterness over being upstaged, but her days are quiet and insanely boring. Ever since the phone call with Emma, Regina’s felt even lonelier than usual, perhaps because she experienced what it could be like to have _someone_.

 

Her trips to the grocery store take two hours now that she stops to mingle with other shoppers. None of the conversations feel as light and right as the one she had weeks ago with a certain director. She and Emma flowed so well together whereas speaking to Storybrooke citizens felt like pulling teeth. They treated her like a parasite, too afraid to stand too close or speak out of line, because of who she was married to.

 

At one point, she thought about driving out of town to a bar when Leo left after dinner but decided not to at the last moment out of fear that Leo would suddenly return to an empty home. That would only make things worse.

 

So her dilemma continues to frustrate her and the only thing she has is the Pinterest page Snow set up for her before leaving for Washington. She’s thought about Twitter but that’s quickly thrown out when she realizes she doesn’t know where she belongs on it.

 

“ _Come on_.” Regina growls as she shakes her unresponsive laptop. No matter how many times she restarts the damn thing, it won’t connect to their wifi. She slams the device onto the desk in the study and straightens with an eye roll.

 

She really can’t take another boring afternoon. She’s at her wits end. She blows out a exasperated breath when her eyes land on the closed doors of Leo’s office, where a shiny new desktop computer sits connected to the wifi through a LAN cable. He wouldn’t know she used it if she deletes the history and shuts it down when she’s done. She won’t even snoop through his files or anything. She just needs some stimulation or she’ll combust, that’s all. No harm, no foul.

 

She strides into his office, shutting the doors behind her just in case Leo comes home early, and powers on his desktop. She manages to withhold her cringe when she sees a collage of Snow’s yearbook portraits proudly displayed as the computer's background and immediately clicks to open an internet window, which thankfully saves her from staring at her stepdaughters cheery face.

 

When she clicks on the search bar, a list of frequently visited sites pops up and the top site has Regina choking on her own saliva. _Pornhub_.  She clears her throat and rubs at her chest as her mouse hovers over the website. As sheltered as she was until her marriage was arranged, she was never interested in sex. Her free time consisted of tending to her horse and hiding from her mother. She kissed the stable boy once. It was awkward and the older boy laughed it off, citing his age as a reason they couldn’t do it again. Though she’s sure his fear of Cora was weighing more on his mind.

 

Now, though, sex was uncomfortable, an obligation, and painful. She’s curious about the type of sex she heard her peers in high school talk about. They made it sound pleasurable, intimate, and like something worth craving.

 

It’s this curiosity that makes her press on the site. The uncensored images bombard her and she stares  at the explicit video thumbnails and advertisements with mild panic, but her interest wins out. She scrolls and sees categories. _Mature, Asian, Straight, Threesome..._

 

Her eyes widen. _Lesbian_ . She recalls her intense reaction to Mulan kissing her fiancée and her skin warms at the thought of watching two women pleasure each other, so much so that her excitement has her scrolling through the category. She stares at the first video. The thumbnail shows two nude women, a busty brunette straddling a petite blonde, and Regina starts _throbbing_ just from the picture. She scoots forward on the desk chair, moaning when her clit is pressed by the seam of her pajama pants, then eagerly clicks play.

 

The video starts off boring enough. The brunette is a realtor—wearing a blazer with nothing underneath, showcasing the curve of her breasts, and a tight skirt that looks ready to burst at the seams—showing the house to a young homebuyer. The realtor flirts shamelessly, only to receive girlish giggles in return, then finally dives in for a kiss that escalates so quickly that Regina’s not sure if she can take much more.

 

Her pussy is already slick and pulsating, and the two women haven’t even taken any clothing off yet. Just as the brunette woman hastily shoves the blonde’s jeans and panties down to her ankles, Regina leans back in the chair and lifts her leg onto the desk corner. She feels desperate for release and it only increases with every thrust of the realtors fingers.

 

Her breathing is sporadic, her fingers snake into her underwear to feel just how wet she is, and when the realtor inserts a third finger, Regina starts slow circles on her engorged clit. She could burst from the slightest stimulation so she goes slow, but her eyes never leave the screen, watching the realtor kiss her way down a toned abdomen to plunge her tongue into a hot slit.

 

“ _Oh, god_.” She exclaims breathily as her fingers begin moving in a circular motion, gaining momentum with every moan and groan coming from the computer speakers. For a brief moment, she wishes it was a tongue on her instead of her own fingers. She desires the feeling so strongly that she’d normally repress the thought, because she just can’t be so enamored by the female form, not when she’s married to Leopold White and her mother tried to shove her into a mold she couldn’t squeeze into no matter how hard she tried, but right now, in this office watching these women, she can imagine freely.

 

The circles get smaller, tighter, faster as the blonde comes against an eager tongue then flips them to even the score. The pressure between her hips builds until she snaps with a loud, unrestrained moan. Her back arches from the back of the chair, her toes curl into the wooden desk, and she curses into the silent house. She keeps rubbing and rubbing until the pressure fades and she stops shaking.

 

She sags into the chair, closes her eyes, and takes a moment to catch her breath. She can hear the realtor moaning deeply and it’s starting to affect her again so she pops open one eye to erase the browser history and shut down the computer. She reclines again to stare at the ceiling, her fingers still on her twitching clit. Regina’s fingers slide lower to her opening to feel just how wet she was. She’s never come so hard and the realization staggers her. “ _Fuck_.”

 

She might be just a tad more gay than she originally thought.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma’s been staring at this endless wall of wine bottles at the liquor store for about ten minutes and she’s nowhere near being able to pick. Should she even bring wine? Mulan said the engagement party was going to be a casual event held at her small apartment in the Bronx. Maybe beer could work?

 

She slides her phone out of her leather jacket and groans as she sits on some stacked cases. She doesn’t want to look like a doofus to Mulan. This should be common sense, but she’s never really been invited to a party like this. She opens her recent calls and scrolls down to find Mulan’s number but freezes when she sees Regina’s call on the log. After she ended the call with Regina weeks ago, she added the number to her contacts, putting Regina’s name and adding a solitary rainbow emoji at the end for reasons she refuses to think about.

 

She hasn’t gotten the courage to call. She’s afraid she’ll just be a bother, especially to a posh lady like Regina, who’s married to the man that’s been making her life miserable for the past month and a half. Leopold White does not like to lose. Emma learned this the hard way. He’s got his cronies following her at all times, reporting back to Leo, and making sure she follows every rule exactly as Leo wishes. He emails her several times a day wanting constant updates.

 

So, besides her cowardice, she’s been a little afraid to call his wife. He’d probably scold her to high hell if he found out she talked to her. If she forged a friendship with Regina? He’d have a conniption then kill her. The rebellious side of her, the one that’s tired of bowing down to that asshole, is screaming at her to press on Regina’s name, to get to know her, and to see where their relationship could go. She liked how easy their conversation flowed, how they bounced off each other and opened a pathway for honest communication. She became more settled in that feeling when Leo didn’t mention the things she told Regina on the phone that night. Plus, after thinking about it, there’s no way Leo would allow them to disparage him if he’s in the room. His ego is too strong for that.

 

These thoughts swirl in her mind and, before she knows it, she’s got her phone pressed to her ear. It rings a few times, enough to make Emma wonder if she should hang up, but the worry is assuage when she hears Regina’s husky voice greeting her.

 

“Hello?” Regina’s lips strain to contain a grin. She knows it’s Emma, has basically memorized the blonde’s number because she stares at it several times a day in hopes she’ll gain the courage to tap on it and call, and she can’t diffuse her giddy excitement.

 

“Red or white?” Emma asks cheekily as she darts her eyes between the two walls of wine separated by a vertical row of halved wooden barrels. She ignores the glare the store owner sends her. He probably thinks she’s going to rob him or something. She’s been squatting in aisle ten for thirty minutes at this point.

 

“Well, _hello_ to you too, Miss Swan.” Regina chides playfully as she plops onto her stool at the center island in the kitchen. Her newest attempt at classic breakfast dishes has cinnamon french toast on her plate. Breakfast and lunch have become ways to experiment with food in a way that’s been restricted since she married Leopold. Her husband demands she keeps her figure thin and shaped, and so he forced her into a strict, consistent diet. At first, she feared him too much to rebel against it and ate such small portions of healthy options, like egg whites or salad. As time passed, her resentment and bitterness had her sneaking fatty and carb-loaded foods when Leo wasn’t around. Now, it’s become her a source of joy and independence that’s more about her own happiness than about defying her husband.

 

“Hello, _Miss Mills_.” Emma deepens her voice to imitate the other woman and it effectively breaks Regina’s restraint, making her chuckle freely.

 

“I need to buy drinks for Mulan and Aurora’s engagement party.” Emma informs her. “It’s supposed to be casual, but I’m not sure what a casual engagement party looks like.” She jumps when she feels something on her hand then rolls her eyes when she realizes it’s a plastic grape hanging off the plastic vine attached to the specialty wine racks next to her. She flicks the grape a little too aggressively, sending it flying across the aisle to bounce off the barrels. The owner sneers. Emma sheepishly smiles before pivoting to hide behind the specialty wines. “I also know _zip_ about wine. I’m more of a beer kind of gal.”

 

Regina snickers. She’s not sure she can help with this dilemma. She’s not really an expert since she usually just has a glass of white at dinner, mostly because Leo demands it. In the past, it was probably to loosen her up for activities he knew she loathed. Now, it’s just habit. She puts the cell on speaker so she can start eating her breakfast. “Close your eyes and pluck one from the shelf. I doubt you’ll be the only one bringing refreshments.”

 

Emma looks down between her legs at the cases she’s perched on and gasps, “What about wine coolers? Do people like those?”

 

Regina drags a piece of french toast through the syrup pooled on her plate as she contemplates how to go about telling Emma she can’t really help. Her mother always had such a tight rein on her and Regina never rebelled or even attempted to drink alcohol or partake in recreational drugs. Then she was married and Leo forbade her from drinking unless it was the one glass at dinner under his supervision, claiming it was unladylike and she would surely embarrass him in her drunken haze. So she feels useless, which is frustrating, but informing Emma of her age and inexperience could dredge up more questions. She’s mostly afraid of how Emma will perceive her. Most people have assumed she’s a gold digger because of the age difference, which is true in some regard, but this marriage was a two way transaction. While Leo has only gained, Regina has won some yet lost quite a lot. In the end, she doesn’t regret it. She can’t. It’s her misery in exchange for her—

 

“You still there?” Emma’s voice pierces through her haze.

 

“Oh, yes, I’m—I’m here.” Regina rubs her left temple. “I’m not very knowledgeable about alcohol.”

 

“Hey, that’s alright!” Emma reassures, then her voice lowers, turning to a whisper, “I really just used it as an excuse to call you.”

 

Warmth spreads through Regina’s body, an all encompassing _joy_ , and her worries suddenly feel unfounded, so she blurts _“I’m twenty-five”_ before she can doubt herself. She needs to be honest or it’ll eat her alive. She lives too many lies as it is.

 

Emma crinkles her brow, doing the math in her head and wanting to wrap her hands around Leo’s neck, but she can hear Regina’s labored breathing and decides comforting Regina is more important than any anger she may feel toward Leo. “Twenty-two over here, which makes this even more depressing, doesn’t it? Just out of college and really only chugged beer and downed tequila.” Emma smiles lightly, not really feeling too joyous about the facts she just learned, but she manages to keep her tone jovial. “However, my _spidey senses_ tell me to take wine coolers. _Very Berry Variety_ or _Splashing Lemonade_?”

 

A rush of appreciation floods Regina. She smiles as she chews on a piece of crispy bacon. “ _Very Berry._ It gives the party goers more options to choose from.”

 

“Can’t argue with that logic, Miss Mills.” Emma lifts the heavy case packed with an assortment of fruity alcoholic beverages and treks to the cashier, who still looks at her with complete distrust and suspicion. She shoots him a glare, but he just narrows his eyes as he scans the case.

 

“Don’t argue with me, period. I always win, _Miss Swan_.” Regina grins devilishly. “Although, if we did argue, I could always lick your wounds afterward.”

 

That was... Well, _whatever_ it was, It knocks the wind out of Emma and makes Regina blush so hard her temperature spikes. _She’s just messing with you,_ Emma thinks to herself. Regina’s married and hasn’t really given any hints at being bisexual. Straight women love flirting with lesbians, at least in Emma’s experience. A bunch of straight girls would visit the gay club she frequented in Boston and they’d dance provocatively with the regulars, flirt like they meant it, sometimes even going as far as making out in the corner of the bar, but in the end, they always went home to their boyfriends and called it a fun girls night out while the lesbians were dejected and felt played. She never let herself fall into it back in Boston and she couldn’t let it happen now, not when a friendship was so appealing and _available_ to her.

 

“I’m sure you’d be exceptional at that.” She teases light heartedly, but quickly changes the subject. “So, what have you been up to the last few weeks?” She gives the cashier exact change and walks out with her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, the hefty wine cooler case hanging from her fingers by the little slit on the top, and the receipt flapping in the wind as she walks.

 

Regina hears Emma unlock her car and dreads hanging up, but she’d feel much worse if Emma got hurt because of her. “You’re about to drive?” Her question is answered by the engine roaring through the speaker and Emma’s quiet voice. With concern in her tone, she warns, “Perhaps I should let you go? I wouldn’t want—“

 

“Relax, tigress. I had a radio with Bluetooth installed in here last year.” Emma shuffles the phone from her ear to connect it to the radio.

 

Regina’s voice filters through the car speakers. “Ah, well... good.” Emma snorts and Regina rolls her eyes at the teasing. It’s not really her fault that Emma makes her quite nervous. She’s not even sure why Emma makes her nervous. It’s not like she’s met her or forged a serious friendship. Perhaps it’s the possibility for something permanent and stable that has her so desperate to make this work. Regina clears her throat. “I’ve been watching the new episodes.”

 

Emma groans as she puts the car into drive and swerves out of the parking lot. “It’s become a nightmare on set.”

 

“Oh?” Regina knows the episodes have reverted back to old formatting so she’s not exactly shocked by Emma’s statement, but she wishes Leo would take it easy on the young woman. She knows better than to hold her breath on that. Leo doesn’t exactly respect women or give people second chances.

 

“He’s got that dude from the pilot—Ronny? Ruben?—following me around like a guard dog.” Emma inhales deeply but gasps when a Ferrari cuts her off by swerving into her lane. She throws her middle finger up and sees the dude give a sarcastic thumbs up. “They watch my every move now. I can’t even pee without—Randall? Ron?— asking for a progress report.”

 

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Regina replies carefully. She takes another bite of her sweet french toast and chews thoroughly before tacking on, “You managed to outsmart him. He doesn’t take kindly to that.”

 

“Yeah, he’s a real catch.” Emma mumbles sarcastically. “How did you even meet him?”

 

Regina chews slowly on a piece of bacon. She’s stalling, that much is obvious, and Emma waits patiently, knowing this story can’t be too pleasant considering the over forty-year age difference and the dispassionate way Regina speaks about her husband, but the silence drags on and she feels compelled to give the younger woman an out. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. You have the right to say you don’t want to discuss something. I’ll respect that.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, because, for a reason I can’t explain, I know I can trust you, but I just... I don’t want you to think less of me.” Regina explains in a faint whisper.

 

Emma turns onto Mulan’s block and parks the car in front of the large apartment building. She sags into the driver's seat with a small exhale and runs her palm across her face. She squeezes her eyes shut. “I spent a year in jail for possession of stolen merchandise. It knocked me out of university and I had to enroll to a fast track at the community college when I got out just to keep up. That’s why Snow chewed me out when I pulled the Mulan stunt. She got me this job.”

 

“Emma—“ Regina quirks her eyebrow.

 

“I thought maybe if I shared something personal, you’d be more comfortable.” Emma states. The compassion and empathy stun Regina. She’s not used to someone being so open and kind, not when she’s been surrounded by threatening words, obligations, and cold shoulders her entire life.

 

So Emma’s gesture means more than the woman can know. She takes a shaky deep breath before taking the plunge. “When I was seventeen, my father was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer. My parents didn’t have insurance, only the inheritance my grandfather left and it wasn’t enough to cover even a quarter of the costs of treatments.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Regina.” Emma’s heart pangs painfully. “Is he—“

 

“He’s alive... but the treatments aren’t working.” Regina blinks away tears. “I saved Snow from a runaway horse a week after his diagnosis, she became enamored with me, and my mother took advantage by brokering a deal with Leo, who was still mourning his late wife. I marry Leo when I turn eighteen, raise Snow, and my father’s treatments are paid for by the White family.”

 

Emma slowly leans her head back against the headrest and closes her eyes under the weight of Regina’s words. “Thank you for telling me.” Emma exhales slowly, “I don’t want you to think I’m running off because of what you just told me, but Mulan will kill me if I’m late to this party.”

 

“I hope they enjoy your wine coolers, Miss... _Emma_.” Regina swirls the prongs of her fork through the syrup on the plate. “Thank you.”

 

Emma stuffs her key into her jacket pocket as she hops out of the car and stares toward the window of Mulan’s apartment. “Regina, you think it’d be okay if I maybe...”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“Can I call you again?” Emma fiddles with the zipper of her jacket nervously. Regina stills her hand and drops her fork to place it on her stomach. Another habit.

 

“Please do.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

_ To: Emma Swan _

_ From Leopold White _

_ Subject: Just Read The Damn Email _

 

_ My advisors are weary about the show’s ratings and have briefed me on how to increase viewership. They seem to believe that the audience wants diversity and travel to be included as the Asian episode had the highest ratings and DVR totals. Robin will still monitor your progress and send me reports. Pay attention to deadlines and budgets. Don’t make me regret this. _

 

* * *

 

Regina wakes up to a ringing silence for the fourth time this week. Leo’s side of the bed hasn’t been used in eight days. Regina’s not complaining about it, not at all, but she is starting to worry that this marriage is going dissolve before her father can start his medical trial at Mercy West in Seattle next month. Henry Mills is going to need temporary housing in Washington and a rental car to shuttle him to and from the hospital, and it’s not going to be cheap. The only way her family can afford this last ditch effort to save her daddy is if Leopold White opens his wallet and shells out the money. 

 

She’s been contemplating whether to butter Leo up or just let things continue as they are. She’s fairly sure he has no reason to divorce her. He has someone to care for his home and listen to him complain and he has a mistress that satisfies his sexual, and possibly emotional, needs now. She’s like his maid-slash-butler and he would have to pay someone to replace her anyway, so keeping Regina around seems logical. 

 

She sits up, scoots back to rest against the headboard, and swallows down the bile threatening to rise in her esophagus. She’s sickened by the fact that she needs that vile old bastard. She wishes she had the fortune and the company and the power. If she did, she could care for her father while being  _ free _ . If she did, she could meet Emma, the one person that makes her feel like she’s more than just a maid-slash-butler-slash-trophy wife, that she’s a human being with intelligence and worth. If she did have power, she’d give Emma free reign to change television with her modern ideas and inclusionary attitude. She’d do so much if she did, but she doesn’t. She’s just a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

 

She checks the digital clock on the bedside table and smiles as she reaches for her cell phone. Emma’s usually awake by now, begrudgingly eating breakfast even though it makes her nauseous because it’s the most important meal of the day.

 

She clicks on her contacts, because she makes sure to erase any evidence of their communications, and searches for Sam Wanem, the fake name she put Emma’s number under on her phone. Their conversations are full of humor, teasing, and mutual affection that’s grown over the three weeks since Mulan’s engagement party. Regina’s lips automatically stretch into a smile when she sees the phone ringing. She does that a lot now. She smiles when she sees _Emma_ , whether it’s carved onto a keychain on a rack at the grocery store or sees Emma Watson on the cover of Cosmopolitan Magazine when she’s paying at the cashier at the grocery store. At first she thought it was her anxiety making her heart palpitate, but that denial quickly faded when the butterflies started to appear every time she heard Emma Swan’s voice. 

 

It should be alarming, and maybe it is in a wholly significant way, but she just feels  _ happy _ . That’s what  _ friends _ do, don’t they? Friends make you smile, make you wish you could hear their voice in person instead of through a telephone, give you butterflies, and bring hope for a better future ahead. That’s how friendship works. 

 

Regina clears her throat and switches gears away from thinking too deeply about Emma Swan to speaking to Emma Swan. As usual at this time of the morning, a grumpy director answers the phone with grunt and a whispered greeting, “Hey, lovely lady.”

 

“Good morning, Emma.” She’s too cheery for this early in the morning but life hasn’t been too bad lately so she can’t help it. 

 

Emma grumbles, “You’re such a morning person.”

 

Before their first phone call, she would have disagreed with that statement. Before Emma, she enjoyed sleeping as an escape, a way to leave this reality she’s been living, but now she looks forward to waking up and speaking to her  _ friend _ . Perhaps she could’ve been a morning person if she had someone that makes her giddy to spend time with them, someone that would make her want to wake up early so she can have just a few extra hours with them. 

 

“Any plans today?” Regina starts the coffee machine and sticks her mug under the spout then walks over to the pantry and contemplates today’s breakfast. 

 

“Leo sent me an email yesterday. Apparently his advisory board cut him at the knees and he’s letting me do things my way.” Emma smirks into the phone then shovels a spoonful of sugary cereal into her mouth.  

 

Regina leans against her counter next to the cabinets with a shocked grin, her hand lifting to cover her lips. “That’s great, Emma! I can’t believe he actually gave in...”

 

“You and me both.” Emma mumbles with her mouth full. She swallows harshly and almost chokes, but she’s been waiting to share this news with Regina since late last night. “So now I just have to find a chef that’ll let me film at their place.”

 

“I’m eager to see what you do next.” Regina retrieves her topped off coffee mug and blows over the scalding hot liquid before lifting to sit on the center island, facing the pantry. She blushes as stutters, “The episode with Mulan was... very inspiring.” Her mind flashes to her propped leg on a wooden desk, her fingers desperately rubbing at her pulsing clit, and— no, she can’t think about that right now, not when her clit is already throbbing along with her heartbeat.

 

Emma hears Regina’s quiet groan and contains her own reaction. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” Regina clears her throat and scrambles back to the pantry to grab ingredients for chocolate chip pancakes. She’s suddenly in the mood for chocolate. “What kind of chef are you looking for?”

 

Emma ponders whether to push the other woman into talking but figures Regina will talk to her about whatever is making her stumble over her words when she’s ready. “I might have someone in mind. I just have to call her and get her approval to film the entire episode today. I could wait until next episode to start this new format but I don’t want to waste a second, not when I could be doing something special.”

 

“I can hear Robin’s ulcer growing as we speak.” Regina jokes as she places her armful of ingredients onto the center island. 

 

“Har-har, let’s book you a comedy tour.” Emma claps sarcastically but chuckles genuinely when she hears Regina snort in that really unladylike way that tells her she’s trying to hold back. She swirls her spoon around the milk remaining in her bowl and imagines what Regina’s smile looks like. The curiosity becomes strong enough to build her courage and she presses the home button to navigate to the camera. 

 

Regina mentions she’s making pancakes and Emma hums, her attention on her phone screen as she snaps a picture of herself smiling and navigates to her messages. They’ve never sent each other texts because Regina worried Leo would snoop and find out about their friendship so she opens a new message to Regina and clips the picture to the simple message.

 

“Regina, I’ve gotta call my prospective chef then go get dressed and meet Mulan at the bridal shop to look at bridesmaid dresses.” Emma informs Regina gently as her finger hovers over send on the text. Mulan has been super pushy about this dress. She wants everything to be perfect, including the women that will stand next to her, so Emma really needs to get her shit together.

 

“Oh. Alright.” Regina’s a bit disappointed that their phone call is being cut short but tries to keep the dejection from her tone. “I suppose I’ll talk to you—“

 

“Later.” Emma interrupts, knowing Regina was going to say tomorrow but hoping they can somehow squeeze in time even though Regina tries to avoid calls after four in the afternoon just in case Leo stays home after dinner. 

 

Usually Regina would warn against it but today... she finds she doesn’t care. She’ll find a way to make it work. “Later, then.” Regina shuts her eyes and bites her lip. “Stay out of trouble, Emma.”

 

“I make no promises.” 

 

When the phone line goes dead, she circles her thumb above the screen, her courage draining now that she can’t hear Regina’s melodic voice. “Just do it.” She whispers into the silent apartment. “It’s just a picture, not a marriage proposal.”

 

She closes her eyes tight enough to make her eyelids throb painfully and just lets her thumb drop onto the screen. She opens one eye and sees the picture with a little check mark that says  _ delivered _ .

 

A few hundred miles away, Regina Mills is burning her pancakes because she’s too busy staring dopily at Emma’s picture. After absentmindedly scrapping the burnt remains of her breakfast attempt from the griddle, she goes to Granny’s for the Nutella pancakes. It gives her more time to analyze each freckle, dimple, and laugh line with enough affection to make her dizzy. Luckily, Ruby doesn’t question her, but if she had, she’s not sure how’d she explain the joy in her heart over one silly selfie. 

 

* * *

 

_ “ _ Miss Swan, are we on schedule?” 

 

Emma freezes on the toilet, a rolled up ball of toilet paper in her left hand. She stares at the door incredulously. “Robin, I’m kind of in the middle of something...”

 

“It’s just that Mister White wants the episode edited by Monday and I’m worried we won’t get everything filmed tonight.” Robin sighs loud enough for Emma to hear through the door. He’s so fucking dramatic sometimes. “Honestly, Miss Swan, filming an entire episode in a few hours is a nearly impossible task.”

 

“Robin?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Let me wipe my fucking ass in peace.” Emma yells derisively, banging her free hand against the wooden door to make it rattle against his ear that’s pressed to it. He’s yelps, but that’s about it, and Emma sags back onto the porcelain in relief. She’s had him literally shadowing her all day, without pause, and she’s so close to tearing her hair out because Robin Hood is a nuisance. He’s bland, asks the dumbest questions, and keeps riding her ass over every detail and deadline. No wonder she completely forgot about his involvement in her pilot two minutes after it aired.

 

Luckily, the dude is soft and crumbles every time Emma raises her voice even a tiny bit, so he’s manageable. She flushes the toilet, rinses her hands thoroughly, wipes her palms on her black jeans, then throws open the door only to have it smack solidly into something with a thump. Emma worriedly slips through the opening to see the damage but rolls her eyes when she sees Robin pinching his nose. His eyes are getting a little shiny. Emma takes some twisted pleasure in that. 

 

“You got me real good there, Miss Swan.” He tries to play it off with a chuckle but it ends up sounding like a wheeze.

 

“You make for an easy target.” She flashes him a dark grin. She whirls around to walk toward the kitchen of their latest chef as fast as she can but she hears his stomps trailing her down the hallway. David shakes his head and throws her a sympathetic smile from his perch by the living room.

 

“Miss Swan,” If she hears her name fall from Robin’s lips one more goddamn time today, she’s going to— “We need to get this done by eight pm.”

 

“I know, okay!” Emma throws her arms up angrily, stops walking, and growls when he flies into her back, “I got it! I got it the first ten times you said it this morning. I will get it done!”

 

“It’s just that—“ He squeaks as she whirls around to face him.

 

“ _ I got this _ .” She pokes his chest with mild aggression and there’s a threat looming in eyes as she stares him down. “Go be a good lap dog and email Leopold that we’re on schedule. Maybe go call your wife and apologize for replacing and whitewashing her to unnecessarily suck up to your boss.  _ Get away from me _ .”

 

He flees without so much as a peep and, god, she loves watching him walk the fuck away. It gives her true joy to see his terror. David whistles with wide eyes and a barely contained grin. “Damn, Emma. You scared the shit out of him.”

 

“If only I could scare the  _ stupid _ out of him too.” 

 

Even after two months of having the buffoon tail her around job sites, she still isn’t used to it. She doesn’t like someone constantly looking over her shoulder and questioning everything she does. Plus, she kinda misses being able to use the bathroom without having some dude knocking down the door. 

 

“ _ So _ ...” David enunciates with a grin, “How’s the secret girlfriend doing?”

 

He’s been needling her about her daily phone calls with Regina. He obviously doesn’t know it’s their bosses wife but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. She’s tried to diffuse the teasing with cold hard facts, because Regina  _ isn’t _ her girlfriend. She’s her friend... who happens to be a female. Not that it’s stopped David from trying to eavesdrop on her conversations. 

 

“She’s not my girlfriend, David.” Emma states exasperatedly for the millionth time. “She’s a long distance friend. I like talking to her, that’s all.”

 

“Mhmm,” David hums like he sees right through her. Emma’s pointed glare has him explaining, “You smile every time you see her name pop up on your phone.”

 

“Because I enjoy our intellectual conversations!” 

 

“You literally rambled to her about how ketchup is better than mustard on a hot dog for ten minutes yesterday.” David blinks at her, astonished that the blonde is wasting time denying how she feels. Emma usually sees something she wants and gets it, to hell with consequences. For fucks sake, she stood up to Leopold White and went behind his back to stick to her beliefs.

 

But this isn’t like standing up to Leopold or firing Jones or clawing and scratching for every opportunity she can get her hands on. This is something she actually fears. Foster care taught her a great deal about life, most notably that people don’t stick around for long, will leave you when something better comes around or when you want something more than they do, and that the only person who can make you or break you is the person you see in the mirror. When she looks in the mirror now, she sees a director, a friend, someone she could one day be proud of, and she’s not going to tear herself apart over feelings that will never be reciprocated. 

 

“Listen, I really love having her as a friend. I’m not going to risk this for a shot in the dark.” Emma explains wistfully. She can’t watch the pity in David’s gaze so she looks to the newest chef, Layla Jackson, as she preps her kitchen for the final cooking sequence. 

 

Layla was a professional horse rider until her spooked steed threw her during a practice session and she landed directly on a sharp boulder that severed her spinal cord. After her accident, cooking was her solace. It sparked a passion in her that she thought died when she lost the ability to walk. Mulan used to compete against Layla and threw her name into the ring this afternoon when Emma frantically messaged her. She smiles as Layla rounds the center island and steers her power wheelchair to the oven to retrieve the classic Jamaican dish her father made for her as a child. She really owes Mulan big time for connecting her with this woman. 

 

Layla catches her staring and winks, and Emma feels like this episode is going to be something so special to millions of disabled Americans. Emma’s just so grateful that her insubordinate action with Mulan led to this moment instead of something much darker. Perhaps some shots in the dark have merit. 

 

“How do you know she doesn’t feel the same?” David plops down in the directors chair, which she let’s slide this time. 

 

“I’m pretty sure she’s straight.” Emma replies absentmindedly as she checks the lighting and positioning for each frame on her monitor.

 

“Assuming makes an ass out of you, Emma.” David coughs after he says it, like he’s regretting the words already, and Layla pretends she’s not hearing their entire conversation but her knowing smile is a dead giveaway.

 

“You’re fired.” Emma quips as she secretly flips him the middle finger behind her back. Layla’s grin grows and she steers her power wheelchair toward them.

 

“You should go for it, Emma.” She inputs when she’s slowing to a stop in front of the director.

 

Emma groans. “Not you too!” She darts her nervous gaze between David and Layla as she deliberately reiterates, “We’re friends, that’s all. I’ve never even met her in person.”

 

“I personally think falling in love with a person’s soul when you haven’t seen the body it’s encased in is much more romantic and meaningful.” Layla says—reminding Emma that Regina hasn’t responded to her text from this morning and it makes her frazzled—as she lowers her chin and tilts her head. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

Emma lifts her eyebrow skeptically. “I could lose the closest thing to a best friend I have and spiral into a debilitating depression?”

 

Layla purses her lips and nods. “Touché.”

 

“Let’s just start filming before Robin has a coronary.” Emma gestures at her crew to get in place. 

 

This day needs to be over.

 

* * *

 

Regina doesn’t talk much during dinner, mostly because Leo won’t let her get a word in edgewise. She listens to him tear Emma Swan apart for thirty minutes and it takes all the restraint she possesses to not impale her fork into his neck. He whines about being overruled at work by those under him and having to relent to them if unless he wanted a mutiny and grumbles over Emma’s next chef, Layla Jackson. She gets through most of his rant without banging her head against the table, but it’s getting worse as he goes. 

 

“She’s an African American lady in a wheelchair, for god's sake.” He hisses under his breath as he tears his meat apart with harsh knife movements. She tried the porterhouse and potatoes from episode eleven. Regina silently chews on a russet potato.

 

“And that  _ bitch _ is parading around with a smug grin, like she’s won.” Regina tightens her grip on her fork and stabs her steak with enough force to shake the table. “Jesus, Regina, that’s my mother's china you’re desecrating! Don’t be a brute!”  _ That’s pretty ironic _ , Regina thinks. He’s the epitome of a brute. His picture could be slapped next to the word in the dictionary. She stuffs her mouth with a cube of medium rare steak to stop the sudden influx of insults wanting to explode from her windpipe. 

 

“I should cancel this show so I can kick that  _ street rat  _ back into the  _ gutter _ , where she  _ belongs _ .” She chews a little longer than necessary, gnashing her teeth even when the food has been swallowed. Her jaw is so tense she can feel the bones shifting and her cellphone is burning a hole in her pocket. 

 

“I’m still baffled that Snow would associate with that—“

 

“Can I be excused?” Regina asks loudly, her voice ringing sharply in the room as her fork clanks against her plate. She hates how childlike it sounds, a grown woman asking permission to leave the dinner table, but she connects her heated gaze to his without hesitation. Leo stares her down but she doesn’t relent this time. 

 

He studies her, his stupefied expression fades with each tick of the grandfather clock chirping from the study, and she manages to hold back the flinch tickling her spine. His knuckles turn white as he grips his knife and, for a second, she wonders if this is how he finally ends her, but he looks away from her and starts sawing at his steak a minute later. He doesn’t look at her when he answers harshly, “You’re excused.”

 

Her chair scrapes when she abruptly stands with her plate and Leo glares at her then peeks at the hardwood to check for damage while she makes her escape into the kitchen. She tosses her plate into the sink rebelliously then looks to make sure it didn’t chip or break and sighs when she sees it’s perfectly intact. Maybe she should install a punching bag in the basement because throwing her saintly mother-in-laws’ china is only going to get her in trouble. She groans at that, hating how juvenile she sounds, and proceeds stomping up the staircase to lock herself in their bedroom.

 

She yanks her phone from the pocket of her slacks and swipes to open to her messages, which is fairly scarce since she only has Emma’s text and emergency texts about town going-on’s from the Storybrooke police department that she never deleted. When she taps on Emma’s message, the selfie mocks her. Logically, she knows she should just delete it and mention it to Emma on the phone later, but her gut is screaming at her to send a photo back. The blonde must be curious about her appearance. Regina certainly was curious about Emma’s, but never got the courage to make the bold move the blonde did. 

 

With one last glance at Emma’s dimples and attractive jawline, she opens the camera and thrusts it an arms length away to capture her full torso. She twists and smiles at the lens, but the photo doesn’t feel right. It’s too...  _ tenth grade picture day.  _ She sighs, exasperated, then catches a glimpse of her favorite robe laying on the chaise in the corner. 

 

Regina glances at the shut bedroom door, checking for any sounds echoing through the mansion and nodding slowly when she hears the front door slam, then scurries to grab her red silk robe. She peels off her turtleneck and slacks, folds them neatly, and places them on the chaise before throwing on her robe and tying it loosely around her waist. 

 

The curve of her breast kisses the v-neck of the robe and the material doesn’t leave much to the imagination with the way it clings to her body like a second skin. She smirks, knowing how good she looks and hoping Emma will think so as well. That thought should frighten her but her giddiness flushes out any denial that usually infects her cognition. 

 

She stretches out her arm, angles the phone to capture her torso, tilts her chin to the side, and checks her appearance on the screen. She huffs as she fluffs her short brunette hair then lets that hand trail to her chest to part the fabric and show more of the curves of her breasts. Now satisfied with her appearance, she thinks of Emma’s bright smile and dimples and lets her genuine reaction shine as she snaps the photo.

 

She’s not sure what she expected to happen when she sent the picture in reply without any explanation as to why it took her so long to send one back, but she’s a bit startled when her phone starts vibrating in her hand. It’s Emma calling. Her nerves double in an instant but her desire to speak to the blonde is much stronger. 

 

She swipes to answer and just places the phone to her ear. Emma greets her with a breathy chuckle. “Regina, your selfies should come with a damn warning.  _ Jesus _ .”

 

Emma nearly toppled over when she saw the picture of Regina scantily clad and slightly tousled. After hours of receiving no response, she figured she’d broken some kind of rule or crossed a line, especially since Regina was so adamant that texting left a trail for Leo to sniff out, but now, she’s really fucking glad she did it because Regina Mills is quite a sight to see. She stared and stared until she analyzed every detail, the scar on her upper lip, the beautiful golden skin tone, the sexy shorter hairstyle, the luscious lips, the gorgeous brown eyes that were so expressive, and before her mind could process her movements, she was calling her very,  _ very _ sexy friend. With each ring, she worried she called before Leo had left and put the brunette in an uncomfortable position, but Regina’s soft voice is enough to assuage that fear. 

 

“I’m sorry I took so long to respond.” Regina mentions quietly, attempting to side step the compliment. She’s not used to receiving them or taking them. Emma scrunches her brow, wishing she could know why it  _ did _ take so long, but she doesn’t push. Not this time, at least, since there’s much more pressing matters at hand.

 

“You’re beautiful.” Emma compliments sincerely and she can feel Regina’s blush from across state lines. Regina knows she’s sexy, has seen the male gaze leer at her body, and is acutely aware that she could charm anyone into her bed if she actually wanted to, but she’s definitely not accustomed to pure kindness and innocent appreciation, a compliment that’s just a compliment. Emma isn’t trying to butter her up for a sexual encounter. She just wants Regina to feel good.

 

“As are you.” She remarks softly as she tightens the sash on the robe. Emma leans back against her bed’s headboard, still in the jeans and tank top she wore to set, and hums in response. She can’t necessarily agree, not when she looks in the mirror and feels she's just average. A friend she had as a teenager once told her that she was her worst critic, but perhaps she’s simply the most honest critic. It’s difficult to accept praising platitudes when she doesn’t believe it. 

 

“By the way, Robin probably  _ did _ get an ulcer today.” Emma rolls her eyes, “I also almost knocked him on his ass.”

 

“What happened?” Regina asks, even though she’s not exactly shocked. The tension between Emma and Robin has been escalating for weeks. 

 

“He was such a pest. I mean, he’s always so fucking annoying but today was over the top.” Emma chuckles, recalling a comment she made a while ago that came true. “He actually asked me for a progress report while I sitting nice and cozy on the toilet.”

 

Regina’s answering laugh echoes through the empty house. “What did you do?”

 

“You probably can guess.” Emma chortles. She slips her boots off of her feet and tosses them onto the floor by the bed then shrugs out of her leather jacket and lays it over her lap. “I chewed him out and  _ accidentally _ broke his nose with the heavy bathroom door.”

 

“ _ Emma.” _

 

“Oh hell, Regina, he looks like a marsupial. It’s not like a crooked nose will make a difference.” 

 

Regina covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. She’s had the displeasure of meeting Robin Hood recently. Leo brought him over for dinner last week and the night had been a complete bore. Robin went on and on about Emma’s insubordination, his wife, Marian, and made an obnoxious show of kissing Leo’s ass while simultaneously leering at Regina from across the dinner table. 

 

When Leo left the room to take an important phone call, Robin attempted to make conversation by asking Regina where she had gotten her blue silk button up, which gave him a valid reason to stare at the blouse — _ read: her breasts—  _ and make inappropriate comments about how they compliment her body’s shape and contour. As if that neanderthal knew anything about Chanel’s winter line. 

 

“I don’t usually condone violence but...  _ well done _ .” Regina smirks as she plops onto the chaise and sinks into the cushions comfortably. Emma can’t find it in her to regret her sporadic bursts of anger toward that man either.

 

With a hefty groan, Emma stands, ignoring the cracking of her knees, and starts whipping off her sweat drenched clothing and replacing it with soft cotton pants and a tank top. “The episode is gonna be great though. The chef is an awesome chick, funny and charismatic, and the directing was spectacular, not to toot my own horn or anything.”

 

“Are you going to leak some spoilers to your biggest fan?” Regina teases, though the sentence holds too many truths. 

 

“No spoilers.” Emma pulls on some scented fuzzy socks then quirks her brow playfully, “Good things come to those who wait.”

 

Regina hums noncommittally. She’s never been a patient person, not as a teenager that simply wanted to ride her horse and miss etiquette classes with Lady Tremaine and certainly not as Snow’s keeper for those long few years before the pale girl went off to college. As she listens to Emma’s mischievous chuckle tumble through the phone and thinks of a future where she can watch supple lips pull upward against flushed cheeks, she can’t help but agree some things are worth the wait.

 

“How did dress shopping go?” Regina can’t imagine Emma in a dress. Not that she’s a true expert on the blonde woman, but she’s always ascertained from their conversations that Emma was a rough-and-tough kind of girl that felt dresses only hindered her. She simply can’t see a reality where Emma Swan willingly throws on a dress instead of her classic jean and t-shirt combo. 

 

“It was... an  _ experience _ .” Emma frowns as she casually strolls into her kitchen. “There were so many options and none felt comfortable. Mulan is stressing about it but I got her calm before I left to drive to set.”

 

Regina pulls the phone away from her ear when loud bangs—kitchen cabinet doors?— start piercing her ear drum. She barely hears garbled words under the commotion. She yells, “Emma?”

 

The noise stops. Emma blinks, her hand on her refrigerator door handle, then sheepishly rubs the back of her neck as she mutters, “Sorry. I’m starving.”

 

“You eat every two hours, Emma.”

 

“Well, okay, not  _ starving _ , but you know what I mean.” One last bang sounds as Emma shuts the refrigerator door without any semblance of grace. She stares at the ingredients laid out on her counter. “Should I have a grilled cheese or macaroni and cheese from a box?”

 

“ _ Neither _ .” Regina huffs, “You have to take care of yourself. All that processed junk is going to clog your arteries. I’m not quite sure how you haven’t keeled over yet.”

 

“I work it off. It’s fine.” Emma waves it off. She twitches her fingers over the box of hard noodles and powdered cheese. She turns over the box to check the instructions and— yeah, she’s pretty sure her milk expired five days ago so... grilled cheese it is.

 

Regina imagines the ways Emma works off those calories and nearly chokes on her own saliva. She coughs. “What if you wore a tuxedo?”

 

Emma freezes with the two slabs of bread in each hand. “I’m... not sure Mulan would be up for it considering she’s the biggest bridezilla I’ve ever seen, but I guess asking can’t hurt?”

 

The suggestion is actually quite helpful. Emma’s been trying to think of ways to make the dress more suitable for her tastes, like the little black dress the attendant at the shop tried to skip over and Mulan scowled at _ ,  _ but it was futile. Emma just didn’t like any option in any boutique or shop because none of it represented her. Dresses are uncomfortable, for reasons she can’t quite grasp, but jeans and tanks and jackets make her feel just a tad bit stronger, like she had an armor, a tough exterior that could protect her. It‘s not a bad thing. Walls aren’t an enemy to conquer. Walls are there for a reason. Walls don’t have to be chipped away in order for Emma to love deeply and bear the burden of caring too much.  A tuxedo just might be a solution if bridezilla approves, which isn’t a given despite the fact that Mulan would completely agree with her on this if it wasn’t her wedding. This engagement and wedding is seriously frying that woman’s brain. 

 

“Mulan seems like a reasonable woman.” Regina interjects. “I’m sure she wants you to be comfortable above all.” This conversation reminds Regina of a portion of Leo’s earlier rant and she bites her bottom lip, unsure if to ask the blonde. It’s not that they haven’t delved into personal topics and sensitive stories before, but she’s afraid to say the wrong thing, rock the boat so to speak, and ruin what they have. She’s not sure where Emma’s boundaries are, which makes her hesitate.

 

“What’s the matter?” Emma cuts through Regina’s train of thought. She could practically hear the cogs in the brunette’s mind churning from hundreds of miles away. She throws her bread slices into a hot pan on the stovetop, drops a slice of processed cheese onto one piece, and waits, both for the cheese to melt and for Regina’s reply.

 

“If I over step, please say so,” Regina pleads. Her mouth twists as she ponders how to phrase her question in a way that won’t offend her friend. “I suppose I’m curious as to how you became so close with Snow. You’re so... different than her,” Regina grimaces at the negative connotation so she adds, “in a good way.”

 

Emma isn’t offended though. She wonders how she and Snow connected despite their polar opposite backgrounds and personalities. It wasn’t an easy journey, not at all, and their friendship isn’t perfect. In reality, Snow sometimes makes her feel lesser or inadequate, but her pixie haired friend has attempted to close the gap between them by using her connections in the business to further Emma’s career. In a way, Snow must know their friendship isn’t on a solid ground because she tries so hard. Emma just wants a friendship that’s effortless, that makes her feel capable and intelligent, like an equal, and she’s not sure if she’ll ever reach that point with Snow.

 

“I met Snow during freshman orientation at Cornell. Getting accepted to that place was a miracle for me and the government grants and university scholarships had me on top of the world back then.” Emma thinks back to her spotty high school years, where she was shipped from group home to group home around Boston while trying to keep her grades up and managing to submit every assignment on time despite the obstacles. She worked so hard to get to that university. Unfortunately, life has a consistent way of knocking Emma down as she’s climbing up.

 

“Anyway,” Emma sighs, “Snow was beautiful, kind, smiled at everyone, and I absolutely hated her.” Regina snorts and Emma answers with breathy chuckle. “It’s true! I took one look at her and I just knew she’s the type of girl that was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She knew she belonged there and she failed to realize that attending a University like that was a rarity for people like me. She was ignorant and represented everything I hated, but she grew on me, mostly because she wouldn’t leave me alone.”

 

“She is  _ quite _ persistent.” Regina mumbles in agreement. 

 

“Yeah, and eventually I saw under the wealth and the cheery facade and I found I could like her, but, to be frank, our relationship is comprised of Snow chasing after me as I run. Maybe that’s why we work? She’s persistent, no matter how hard I push.”

 

“What if you don’t want her to chase you?” Regina asks softly, her eyes closing as she soaks in Emma’s melodic voice.

 

“Then I wouldn’t let her find me.” Emma says. Her grilled cheese now lays on the small dessert plate she stole from Macy’s last Christmas and her fingers scratch at the tiny reindeer painted onto the porcelain. “I guess our friendship is a work in progress.” Emma pauses, her eyes flitting rapidly between her white kitchen counter and the shining metal of her sink, then straightens with intent. “I don’t feel like running from you.”

 

Regina breath hitches and her heart stops for a sliver of a moment. Neither woman can label the rush of relief and euphoria that slips over them like a warm blanket. It’s a relationship of proportions they’ve seldom experienced in their lifetimes: acceptance that makes them walk a little taller, kindness that makes them forget every indiscretion that loomed before it, caring that reminds them they aren’t alone in this world, but, perhaps most importantly, friendship that reaches deep within them and soothes their souls, despite every logical reason why it shouldn’t be possible. 

 

Every cell in Regina’s body is screaming for her to take a page from Emma and run, to leave the status quo as is and move on from this dangerous situation she’s found herself in. Then, with a startle, she realizes she doesn’t want to run away from Emma. She wants to run  _ toward _ her. And that’s perhaps just as terrifying. 

 

The fear is slowly consumed by relief and warmth and fondness, and it drowns in the happiness. She can’t be afraid of something that makes her so happy. Without thought, one hoarse word, full of too much emotion, slips from her lips, “ _ Good _ .”

 

Emma listens to Regina’s uneven breathing for several moments after, needing to catch her own breath. Her grilled cheese sits on the counter forgotten. Regina sinks deeper into the chaise as she presses the phone harshly against the shell of her ear.

 

“I know this friendship could be costly for you so I guess I just want to say thanks for not leaving me behind.” Emma grips one half of her grilled cheese and takes a hearty bite. Maybe with food in her mouth she won’t say any more embarrassing shit. Regina, though, is struck by Emma’s sweet consideration of her situation and smiles.

 

“You’re worth it, Miss Swan.” She tries to cut some of the affection lingering in the sentence by whispering Emma’s surname conspiratorially and it works. Emma’s laugh sucks a piece of bread and cheese into her windpipe and she coughs frantically, pounding on her chest.  _ “Emma? Are you alright?” _

 

“I’m okay,” Emma croaks after chugging some orange juice she swiped from the refrigerator. “I’ll live to see another day.”

 

“Mmm,” Regina nods then pivots the conversation toward safer territory. “So did you also meet Mulan at Cornell?”

 

Emma takes the turn in conversation in stride, because her feelings for Regina have definitely grown into something way less platonic and she’s trying to hold back. “She was my roommate. We clicked immediately and the bond became stronger when we confessed to one another that we were into girls. There’s comfort in knowing a friend is a safe place for that kind of stuff, you know. She was such an amazing friend to me.” Emma smiles solemnly. “She even came to visit me in prison. I didn’t expect visitors, but there she was, every week like clockwork.”

 

Regina darts her eyes toward the ceiling and blinks rapidly to stop the influx of emotion. Thinking of a young girl in prison, alone and fearful, was heartbreaking enough but to hear that Emma felt like no one would go see her was even worse. Regina can’t say she knows how Emma felt but she can empathize. She’s in her own prison, has been since the moment she said  _ I do _ , and loneliness is a given with this arrangement. Her own mocking voice rings through her mind,  _ “Except you chose this.” _

 

Emma’s voice startles her, “How about you?”

 

“Me?” 

 

“Yeah. I’ve talked so much about myself the past few weeks, which is not how a friendship should work, and I want to know more about you. So... tell me about your friends?” Emma shrugs and bares her teeth as she grits them nervously. Regina usually doesn’t discuss her own life, with her father being the only exception, and it’s beginning to feel like their friendship is uneven. 

 

Regina presses her palm against her abdomen. “Oh, I—I don’t really have many friends.” The truth of the matter is that Regina doesn’t discuss her life because her life is quite empty and lonely. She doesn’t have colorful lesbian buddies or humorous college stories or anything else to offer. Her life is grocery shopping and existing in the mansion. Wake up, cook, clean, fake a smile, go to sleep. Rinse and repeat. Now she has Emma, but aside from that, her life is bland. Why would a woman like Emma ever want to sit through a recanting of her day? 

 

Emma, however, is baffled. Regina Mills is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She’s a wonderful human being. How could a woman of Regina’s caliber be ignored? “I don’t believe that for one second, but if I did, I’d say it’s their loss.”

 

“I knew a woman named Mallory in high school. Our mothers were friends so we were forced together often. Eventually, we started to get to know one another, but before we could build a friendship, we graduated. Mal moved to New York to attend law school and I got married.” Regina swallows roughly. “Since then, there hasn’t been anyone.”

 

“Well, it’s good you called me that night then.”

 

* * *

 

Life becomes much more hectic for Emma as the months go by. She picks up small jobs for advertisements so she can pay her rent and her schedule leaves little room for free time. The time she does have is reserved solely for Regina Mills. Their phone calls grow in length in the mornings and the nightly phone calls continue since Leopold never comes home after dinner. He leaves after dinner and comes back the next night for the next recipe Regina cooks. It doesn’t help Regina’s loneliness but it certainly gives her space to breathe and explore the lesbian category on Pornhub. 

 

The flirty undertone between them grows steadily as Halloween passes. Regina listens closely as Emma regales her with tales from Mulan’s costume party, like Aurora tipping over the punch bowl and soaking their neighbor that was dressed like tinkerbell. The calls make the days bearable, especially as her father grows sicker and sicker over in Washington and Snow starts texting her again because the holidays are closing in. 

 

For Emma, the approaching holidays bring melancholy, a reminder that she’s an orphan with no family of her own. Mulan goes back to California to spend time with hers, Aurora usually tags along, David is heading to Jersey to see his mom, and Snow will be with Regina and her father in Maine.

 

But Emma’s in a better place this Thanksgiving than she was last year. This year she has a job to distract her from the fact that her parents decided to toss her on the side of a highway on a chilly night and left her alone on every holiday and birthday. The crappiest part is that with Snow back in Storybrooke, Regina won’t be able to talk much. The brunette explained that Snow follows her around and begs her to hang out, and she can’t exactly decline when Leo is glaring at her from across the room. God forbid someone denies his precious princess. 

 

Snow hasn’t texted Emma in a while since the internship has kept her so busy, so she’s surprised to see a new message from her friend a week before turkey day.

 

_ I’m driving up to Maine from Washington DC in three days and, since I pass New York anyway, I thought I’d come see you. Is that okay? _

 

And Emma can’t say no... can she? She planned to shoot a commercial for a law firm during the days leading up to the holiday since they were desperate to get something ready before the end of the month, but she thinks she can move the filming up to tomorrow and free up her schedule for Snow. 

 

A sense of obligation to her friend has her responding with a resounding  _ yes _ . Regina chuckles mockingly for ten minutes when she finds out but wishes her good luck. Emma’s still not sure if she meant it or was just being an ass. The hardest part of Snow’s incoming visit is that she has to be careful when talking to Regina because she has a tendency of looking through Emma’s phone and eavesdropping on telephone calls. 

 

_ “She can’t keep a secret, Emma. Be careful, for my sake.” _ Regina whispered to her last night, quietly but the warning in her tone was clear, and it has her weary as Snow sits on her couch, waiting for the tea Emma is brewing. 

 

Snow finally talks when the kettle starts whistling loudly. “I saw a little snippet of the latest episode before I left DC.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma prompts halfheartedly. She’s not expecting a sparkling review, not since Snow chewed her out over her  _ insubordination _ . 

 

“It was very,” Snow wrinkles her nose at the Wonder Woman cup her tea is served in but grabs it and takes a dainty sip, “homely.” Leave it to Snow to pick a word that has two different definitions and could absolve her of wrongdoing. Although she’s pretty sure she meant  _ unimpressive _ but she plays dumb and smiles tightly. God better give her a gold medal when she croaks. 

 

“So how’s your internship going?” She asks casually, trying to shift away from any conversation that can tread dangerous territory and start an argument. 

 

Snow beams, “It’s been amazing! It’s so fast paced and challenging!”

 

“Cool,” Emma drawls, completely uninterested. Snow prattles on and on though. Emma barely listens. She just latches on to some key words just in case her friend wants feedback. Snow sips at her tea in between sentences while Emma’s lays on the coffee table and chills to room temperature. She hates hot tea, but Snow loves it so she stocks up on tea flavors, stacking them in the back of the pantry until they’re needed. 

 

Eventually their conversation heads toward home life and the holidays, which sets her on edge. Snow takes her last sip of tea and places the empty cup on the table, next to Emma’s full one. She frowns as she points at Emma’s untouched Harry Potter mug. “You’re not going to drink it?”

 

“Uh, no.” Emma gestures to her abdomen. “Chamomile makes me sensitive.” It’s not  _ really _ a lie. The one time she tried the stuff at a family dinner Mulan dragged her to, she was in and out of the bathroom all night... but that was probably from the meat Mulan’s uncle charred into a piece of coal and shoved down her throat. What Snow doesn’t know—

 

“That’s odd. Chamomile is known for helping with gastrointestinal problems.” Snow’s tone is suspicious but her mouth twists apologetically. “Why did you make it then?”

 

Emma suddenly gets the feeling she’s being interrogated, which will always make her ridiculously defensive but with Snow’s latest attitude toward her, the uncomfortable tension rises with each silent second. She made the tea because Snow likes it and she didn’t want to sit there without a cup like a dope. Isn't it the hospitable thing to do, socialize with the guest and serve them tea and, like, crumpets or something? God, Snow’s wealth and status will always frazzle her. She never feels up to snuff. That thought sends a pang of irritation through Emma, making her quirk her brow and lie through her teeth, “It’s for you. Two for you, because you love it _so_ much.”

 

Snow stares back, a little surprised at the agitation in Emma’s tone, but rubs her tense arm between them consolingly. “That’s very sweet of you, Emma.”

 

The blonde deflates under the placation. “Sorry, I’m just trying to be a good host and failing badly.”

 

“It’s fine.” Snow lifts the second mug, filled with tepid tea Emma was supposed to drink, and smiles at her over the rim. “The holidays always make you cranky.”

 

_ Cranky _ . Emma barely holds back from scoffing, because only Snow would label her depressed and agitated state over being utterly alone as simple  _ crankiness _ .

 

“Yeah, well, it kinda sucks that my Thanksgiving consists of Boston Market chicken I pretend is turkey and so much beer I see double.”

 

Snow blanches and frowns at the dejection in her tone. “Emma...”

 

“It’s fine!” Emma rushes to reassure, mostly because she hates the pity she finds in Snow’s dark eyes. “It's always been this way so...”

 

Holidays in foster care were usually non-existent if the parents were only in it for a paycheck. They weren’t going to shell out money for them or make any effort. Other foster parents, the ones that fostered so they could pat themselves on the back for their  _ philanthropy _ , would sometimes buy her a cheap doll or some other toys she had no interest in. They never asked her what she wanted or took time to get to know her interests, because it wasn’t really about her. It made them feel good to do it. The good foster parents, though rare, gave her a real taste of what the holidays could be. The problem was that once she got a taste, being without felt agonizing. It was a tease and it makes the winter months unbearable, seeing the joy and decorations and knowing she’d go home to a ringing silence in a small, empty apartment.

 

All she wants is eggnog, Christmas trees, cooking dinner from scratch, hanging mistletoe and acting so surprised when she captures her lover under it. She wants to be woken up by a small child bouncing on her mattress, yelling that Santa came, and throw her love a glance that just screams contentment. That’s all she wants but life is cruel, it’s the furthest thing from a fairytale, and Emma feels so hopeless. Her future is filled with ringing silence, Boston Market chicken, and beer. 

 

She snaps her gaze away from Snow’s frown to check the time. It’s already one in the afternoon and Snow has quite a drive ahead. The weather isn’t going to cooperate either. Rain lightly patters against the window, the sky a murky grey. Snow’s a shitty driver. She doesn’t need any more obstacles.

 

“You should head out before traffic picks up. New York is a nightmare from three to five.” Emma warns. She doesn’t necessarily want Snow to feel like she’s being kicked out, but Emma can only take so much of her friend before she gets the urge to rip her own hair out and she needs to decompress after the long night filming at the firm.

 

Snow watches her with squinted eyes, slightly affronted but trying to hide it under a fake smile and a nod. “Yes, I should if I want to make it before it gets too dark.” Snow rises from the couch and grabs her coat, burrowing into the thick wool material lining the inside, before turning back to Emma. “You should go out on Thanksgiving. Staying here,” She gestures to the messy apartment, “will only make the loneliness worse.”

 

Emma thinks of the homeless shelter she resided in for a year when she got out of prison and knows Snow’s right this time. Maybe she’ll go serve turkey to the people that are in the position she was when she was in her early twenties and help the other volunteers clean up after. Maybe that could be her family this year. 

 

“I’ll be fine, Snow.” She says softly, hoping to convey gratitude. Then smirks, “Enjoy your trip home. Tell Leo I hope he chokes on turkey.”

 

“ _ Emma _ .” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hook and Hood are punching bags in this story and I'm not even sorry about it. Neither man will have even a hint of a romance with my version of Emma and Regina, I promise. Lesbianism will always prevail.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minuscule mention of non-consensual sex. If that may trigger you, skip the paragraph that begins with: “She doesn’t mention what happens after Leo shuts the door as Snow drives away....”

_To: Leopold White_

_From: Emma Swan_

_Subject: Lesbian Street Rat At Your Service Sir_

 

_Hey, boss man! Robin said you wanted to do a Christmas special before the hiatus? If that’s true, it’d be great if we could hash out the details and get the ball rolling._

_P.S. I’m hiring a gay Muslim man for the next episode! Hope you like it! ;)_

 

* * *

 

Regina’s knees pop when she stands after spending an hour rubbing at the grime on the shower tiles. The December chill fills the mansion and makes each room unbearably cold so, with the heat currently not working, she’s stuck in a hoodie and sweatpants. Even the plush lining of her cotton sweats don’t protect her legs from the indentations between the tiles. The chore is absolutely agonizing but she needs some hard labor, something that requires her to scrub harshly or use power tools, because Snow’s latest visit has her on edge, even though it’s been a week since the girl left for DC.

 

Usually Thanksgiving break is short and, therefore, much easier to handle, but Snow seemed different this year. She walked into the mansion with those round doe eyes, hugged her father so tightly that the old bat groaned, and even attempted to grab at Regina. _As if_. That wasn’t too abnormal though. Snow always had an issue with boundaries. But the next morning, when Regina was preparing to cook the feast, Snow walked into the kitchen and asked her if Regina could show her how it’s done.

 

“ _We can cook and maybe talk_?” The mousy girl had mumbled under her breath just as Leo walked through the doorway to refill his wine glass for the third time. Leo’s heated stare had her agreeing halfheartedly and, before she knew it, Snow had her arms around her, squeezing so tightly she felt suffocated.

 

As they whipped up the mashed potatoes from the recipe book of Leo’s late wife, Snow kept glancing at her until Regina dropped the masher into the pot and waited for the younger girl to speak.

 

“ _I’m sorry_ .” She said, her breath catching with each word. Snow was uncertain, uneasy, and Regina enjoyed the discomfort. She nods, taking the apology as a close to the conversation, and reaches for the masher, only to be interrupted by Snow ‘s hand on her bicep. _Boundaries_ . “ _I just... some people don’t have family to go home to. I feel grateful to have one._ ”

 

 _You aren’t my family_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she thought of her true family, her father, who needed the White family’s money for treatment, and she thought of Emma Swan, who didn’t have a home to travel back to for the holidays. It stopped her dead in her tracks and she gulped at the sudden emotion she felt. Snow mistook it for some truce and wrapped her arms around her waist, tucked her head on Regina’s shoulder, and whispered niceties about family, as if they’d ever be a real one.

 

By the time Snow departed, Regina was running on fumes. She barely spoke with Emma during the three day visit, Snow was extremely clingy, and Leo spent all day and night at the mansion because his precious daughter was there. The days after were calm, full of ringing silence, alone time, and, most notably, long conversations with her blonde friend, who was adorably animated about her service at the shelter. She can’t find much solace in those things though, because Christmas is rapidly approaching and Christmas means a week long visit from Snow.

 

With that nasty thought filtering to the back of her mind, Regina plops down onto the edge of the bathtub and smiles at her phone sitting on the bathroom counter. Emma’s been telling her about the latest chef while she cleaned, insisting that she needs stimulation or her brain cells will melt away.

 

“I’m telling you, Regina, everyone—except Leo, obviously—is going to love this guy!” Emma paces alongside her bed as she tries to explain how magical it was to see Amir Asad, a blind man originally from Egypt, cooking in his small apartment in Brooklyn. “He’s charming, so relatable, funny, and it’s just so important for men like him to be portrayed positively in the media, especially now, ya know?”

 

Regina’s proud of the passion she hears from the blonde, even a bit astonished that she enjoys her occupation so much that she becomes excited over the most minute things she experiences everyday. It’s a passion Regina lacks. They only activity that came close was tending to her horses back home, but Cora tried to hinder that as much as possible and Leo refuses to have a stable on his land.

 

“I’m eager to see it.” Regina remarks softly as she tosses the dirty rag she’d used to clean the floor into the sink and turns on the tap. She squeezes some soap onto the cloth and lathers the orange scented liquid until it foams. “The recipe from the Thanksgiving special was delicious, by the way.” She washes the suds off then wrings the cloth so hard her palm burns under the friction. “Snow loved those mashed potatoes.”

 

“You haven’t told me how that all went down.” Emma prompts as she drops onto her mattress.

 

“Snow was... Snow. Leo was home the entire time.” Regina chuckles, “I think that about sums it up, really.”

 

“Is it awkward between you and Snow?” Emma hears Regina sigh as the faucet turns off.

 

“I wouldn’t say awkward. I know how to play the part, but I have to fake smiles and grit my teeth through the pleasantries, especially when Leo’s around. He notices how hard I try, but I suppose it pisses him off that I have to _try_ in the first place.”

 

She doesn’t mention what happens after Leo shuts the door as Snow drives away, how he turns and looks at her with hardened eyes and fisted hands. It used to make her cower like a small child being scolded despite trying her best, because she knows he gets especially aggressive after Snow’s visits. She knows what fighting it will get her as well, so she takes the glare and the verbal shrapnel that pierces her skin, she usually doesn’t fight it when he drags her to the bedroom, he rolls her onto her front on the mattress and enters her from behind so he can pretend it’s his late wife and call out her name when he’s done. She pretends they both aren’t sobbing into their pillows and she tries to forget it the next morning because the routine will be back in place. She tries, tries, _tries_.

 

“ _Regina?_ ” Emma concerned voice snaps her out of her thoughts and, with a startle, she realizes she’s crying. She’s crying and hyperventilating and Emma’s panicking, trying to call out to her. “Regina, I’m _here_ , okay? Whatever it is... you’re not alone. I’m _right_ here.”

 

Silence stretches on for a few moments as Regina’s mouth hangs open, then a rush of air circulates through her lungs. “ _I’m dying here._ ” Regina cries hoarsely. She’s completely unfiltered by her grief, terrified that she said it out loud, then... she feels _relief_ . The pressure on her chest loosens and so do her lips, “I can’t take it anymore, Emma. I feel like I’m _rotting_ from the inside out.”

 

The anguish is breaking Emma’s heart. The words she’s hearing are so reminiscent of her childhood pleas. She begged social workers, judges, and bystanders to save her, but no one ever listened. Now, in this moment, Emma is sure as hell listening.

 

“ _Leave_ , Regina. You can come to my apartment, okay? I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Emma’s begging now. She’s never heard her friend sound so lost, so desperate to express just how miserable she is. Emma stands and starts pacing again, lifting her fingers to her dry lips and running the tips across them in an attempt to calm herself. It doesn’t work.

 

“I _can’t_. My father needs this!” Regina catches her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her reddened cheeks and eyes and how her makeup is running down her face and smudging. She’s a certifiable disaster. She lays her palm over her forehead, closes her eyes, and takes several deep breaths before calmly adding, “My father needs the money. I have to stay and play this miserable part, and I will do it for as long as it takes. My father needs my help.”

 

“Does your father really want this help if it makes his daughter miserable?” Emma’s rhetorical question has her sagging against the counter. If Henry were to find out what happens within the walls of this mansion, he’d die of a broken heart and she knows it. That’s why she doesn’t tell him and makes excuses as to why he can’t visit. Emma sighs at the quiet tearful hiccup floating through the line. “Just try to stay as safe as you can, alright? And know that I’m here if you ever want to leave that place.”

 

Regina nods, stunned at the genuine concern she’s hearing from her friend, and says, “You’ll be my first call if I ever do.”

 

Emma wants to ask so many questions, though she knows if she hears the answers she’ll fly over to Maine and punch Leo to a pulp, but Regina already sounds so distraught so she drops the subject for now. “How’s your dad?”

 

Regina flips the toilet seat cover down and sits atop it. “The doctor’s are saying his body is rejecting the treatment.” She called them earlier this morning for an update because her mother wasn’t answering her calls. During the conversation, one of the doctors mentioned that Henry was feeling isolated and lonely, which wouldn’t help the healing process, and she realized Cora wasn’t in Washington with her father. She dropped him off and left him to fend for himself. Her blood boiled at the realization, but with each sentence uttered by his lead surgeon, her heart dropped lower and lower until she couldn’t even feel it. “They said he has a few months left... maybe less. He’s deteriorating quickly.”

 

“Damn. I’m sorry, Regina.” Emma mumbles apologetically. She knows how much Regina loves her father. He had given her love and comfort when her mother cut her with words and knuckles. “Is he going back to Maine?”

 

“He wants to.” Regina props her elbow on her knee and palms her chin to hold up her head. “I’m not ready to bring him home. If I see him here, I’ll know it’s over.”

 

“Would you rather he pass with you next to him, holding his hand, or in a sterile room filled with people paid to be there?”

 

The answer is obvious to them both.

 

* * *

 

Henry is transferred from Seattle to Maine as soon as Regina is able to force herself to make the call. He’s frail, lacking any energy, and his words are slurred because of the heavy pain medication Cora pumps him with, but he manages daily chess matches with his daughter and enjoys telling her about his childhood and family, even if getting the words out is becoming more and more difficult.

 

Leo is also becoming difficult, especially with Christmas only a week away. He wants her home, decorating the mansion and preparing it for Snow’s week long visit, but Regina is putting her foot down. She will not sacrifice the little time she has left with the man she entered this sham of a marriage for to cheer up the mansion. Her father is knocking on death's door. She’s not really feeling cheery anyway.

 

Regina’s sitting next to Henry in bed and staring at his scrunched brow as he contemplates the chess pieces on the breakfast tray over his lap. After a long deliberation, he makes a bad move that has checkmate written all over it. She moves her chess piece with precision and smirks at her father, who’s playfully glaring at her now. “You’ve gotten good at this, _mija_.”

 

“I had a fabulous teacher.” She throws back with a toothy grin. Her father makes another bad decision and leaves his queen open to attack. As she leans in to strike, her phone vibrates on the tray, startling both of them. “Excuse me, daddy.” She apologizes hurriedly as she turns the cell over in her hand.

 

“Leopold again—” He starts to ask but catches her bright smile, “Or _not?_ ”

 

She forces her mouth shut and purses her lips, but the damage is done. Her father is staring at her with unbridled hope in his eyes, so she mumbles, “It’s just a _friend_.”

 

Henry scoffs, “Don’t lie to me. Who is he? Is he handsome?”

 

“ _She’s_ a _woman_ , so like I said... totally _platonic_.”

 

“Oh please, I know all about the homosexuals.” Henry blurts. The sentence is said with such conviction it almost makes Regina laugh out loud. _Almost_ being the operative word, because her father basically just insinuated that she’s gay, which is too close for comfort. The closet is cozy. This is dangerous.

 

“I am _not_ gay! Emma’s _just_ my friend.” Regina shoots up from the bed, towering over her father, who’s completely unfazed by her vehement denial. “She’s my _friend_.”

 

“She’s your friend,” He says knowingly, “But you want her to be more than that.”

 

“No, I—“ The rebuttal is right on her lips, ready to be used, but she’s tired of lying about it. She’s tired of living a life that’s on autopilot. Her shoulders hunch and her mouth snaps shut. Henry simply takes her hand, rubs his thumb across the back of it, and smiles reassuringly.

 

“It’s okay, _mija_. I know.” He whispers it so lightly that she’s leaning toward him to catch it. His eyes dart toward the bedroom door behind her, like he’s making sure Cora hasn’t suddenly appeared, then peers up at her with so much merriment. She bites her tongue to stop the emotion burning her eyes and constricting her airway. Somehow, his pale lips stretch even more. “It’s okay, Regina. I love you. There are no conditions to that. I love you now just as I loved you ten minutes ago. You understand?”

 

Regina squeezes his fingers. She understands perfectly.

 

* * *

 

There’s a special vibe in New York City during late December. Tourists come from all over the world to skate at Rockefeller Center and see the famous tree lighting up the square. Native New Yorkers actually become pleasant and smile at you as you walk gingerly over patches of ice on the sidewalk. Festive music floats down every street and the snow falls beautifully, like Mother Nature wants to compel everyone to watch her handiwork.

 

There’s a special vibe in her town this time of year, but Emma can’t enjoy a second of it. She’s too fucking grumpy, a certified Scrooge. She turns off the radio whenever they start playing _All I Want For Christmas_ because Mariah Carey can kiss her ass. She doesn’t buy a tree, or a wreath, or any other festive decorations. Her apartment is beautiful as is, thank you very much. She does go to Rockefeller, not to skate or enjoy the chilly fresh air but to watch the young children fall on their asses on the ice. It’s free entertainment.

 

Christmas has never appealed to her, not as a kid and not now, because it’s so family centered that it digs up that nasty loneliness and the heart wrenching bitterness, and because it’s so connected with religion and, well, she’s a gay woman that’s been told she’s wrong by too many priests, nuns, and zealots.

 

The upside is that the cooking show is on hiatus and her Christmas bonus was generous so rent should be fine for the next two months. She’s able to just relax and be lazy. With that in mind, Emma hunkers down on the couch as her PlayStation powers on to show the Crash Bandicoot main screen. As she waits for her level to load, her phone starts ringing, making her smile. She already knows who it is. Mulan hates talking on the phone so she only receives emails and texts from her. Snow usually texts before she calls. So the only conclusion is—

 

“Hey, _Reggie_.”

 

“Don’t call me that.” The scolding words are undermined by Regina’s quiet chuckle and Emma hums knowingly.

 

“How’s it going?”

 

“It’s going.” Regina glares at the bare pine tree in the corner waiting to be decorated. “I’m trying to decide which color scheme I should go with.”

 

Emma mashes the buttons on her controller so her character avoids an obstacle. “Hit me with the options, _Reggie_.”

 

“Don’t—“ Regina groans. “Blue and silver or black and white?”

 

“Black seems a little gloomy for Christmas.” Emma pauses her game to shovel some chips into her mouth. Mid-chew, she says, “Blue and silver seems okay.”

 

“Just _okay_?” Regina whirls around to rifle through the boxes of decorations she dragged up from the basement, but Emma’s melodic chuckle stops her cold.

 

“Regina, you’re a perfectionist. You’ll make any color scheme look awesome.”

 

While that’s ultimately correct because Regina can make anything work with enough tweaking, it doesn’t help her pick a color scheme, which needs to be perfect because she is, indeed, a perfectionist. She lays her phone down on the table by the couch so she can rip open the last box.

 

She smiles at what she finds. “Red and white.”

 

“Red and white sounds nice.” Emma smirks knowingly. “See? You don’t need my help. You’re the _hostess with the mostest_ . _”_

 

Regina starts delicately unpacking the glass orbs and tree topper, laying each piece on the couch and spreading them out to get a better look at what she has to work with. Emma’s video game audio, accompanied by either loud curses or cheers, keeps Regina entertained through the monotonous task. Just as she places the last piece onto the couch, Emma’s voice calls out to her.

 

“Someone’s at my door. I’ll be right back!” Her voice fades, telling Regina she’s already making her way to her apartment door to see who’s knocking loudly and incessantly. When Emma reaches for the door knob, a spray of potato chip crumbs fly up and into her face. “Gah!”

 

“Don’t die over there.” Regina sasses as her eyes dart between the tree and the decorations laid out on the couch. The white star tree topper would probably look the best, she thinks. Red is too bold for the centerpiece of the tree.

 

Just as she lifts the delicate glass star into her hand, she hears Emma panicking. “Oh my god, Snow! What’re you doing here?” And apparently panic is very much an appropriate response. Snow White cannot know she’s been conversing with Emma, not when that brat can’t keep a damn secret. If Snow knows, then Leo will know.

 

Emma’s mind is following the same manic thought process as Snow grabs her by the shoulders, a huge grin plastered on her lips, and pulls her in for a tight hug. She wraps her arms around the petite woman and slyly turns them so Snow is facing the door. Her phone has Regina’s name plastered on the screen and there’s no way in hell she’s going to let Regina get hurt because of her. The older brunette smartly remains silent.

 

“I came to visit before I head up home for Christmas. I thought maybe I could stay over tonight, like old times?” Regina internally scoffs at Snow’s lack of forethought or consideration. She gently grabs a stool and places it next to the tree so she can stick the white star on top. Emma just smiles plastically as she ushers Snow toward the kitchen.

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma waits until Snow’s back is turned then snatches her phone from the table and tucks it into her bra, which makes Regina tilt her head quizzically when she hears static for a few seconds.

 

“ _So_ ,” Snow drawls, dragging out the word with a conspiratorial smirk plastered on her lips, “any plans for Christmas?”

 

In Maine, Regina’s heart pangs, because she knows that tone. That tone is pulled out when Snow is excited about something she thinks is a great idea but Snow is kind of blind to the plight of others so her ideas usually end in disaster. With a grimace, she recalls a younger Snow, with a grin so big it almost split her face in half and _this_ tone flowing from her mouth, telling her they’d be a family. A day later, the older stable boy Snow caught her kissing mysteriously quit working at the stables and Leopold showed up at her door to whisk her away on a date she never agreed to.

 

“Uh, _no_.” Emma point to herself, “Sad orphan, remember?”

 

Snow shakes her head but her grin grows, which is really wigging Emma out. Regina, on the other hand, is holding a red glass orb to her chest and anxiously waiting to hear what Snow is thinking. She doesn’t have to wait long.

 

“Come home with me!”

 

With a gasp, Regina drops the orb. It smashes into pieces against the hardwood and the piercing sound bursts through the phone currently tucked in Emma’s sports bra. Snow quirks a brow, smile still in place, and moves closer to Emma, who chuckles nervously and steps around Snow to head into the kitchen.

 

“Emma? If you don’t want to, it’s fine. It was just a suggestion.”

 

But it’s not that Emma doesn’t _want_ to. She really, really wants to. She wants to go to Maine and meet Regina in person, be able to talk to her face to face and take in the woman that’s made the last few months bearable, but that course of action would jeopardize their friendship. If Leo gets even slightly suspicious, he’ll dig and dig until he unearths them, and it won’t be Emma that gets the brunt of the hurt. Sure, she’d probably lose her job, but Regina would lose _everything_.

 

Emma clears her throat as she pulls a single tea bag from the cabinet.  “But, uh, your dad hates me. He wouldn’t want me there. It’d be uncomfortable.” She turns the knob on the stove and settles the kettle on the fire. She stares at it just to avoid looking Snow in the eye.

 

“He said he’d try to be civil for me.” Snow clarifies. “I just don’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”

 

Regina stands frozen in the middle of her living room. Her mind is at war. One side wants Emma to come to the mansion so she could sneak around to spend time with her and just be with the person that makes her feel _something_ . The other side is screaming that this is heading off the rails, it’s tempting fate, and that it’s idiotic to think she and Emma could have any type of future when she’s trapped under Leo’s thumb. But, with a shaky exhale, she realizes she doesn’t care about the consequences. She cares about Emma and she wants to see her, wrap her arms around her, smell that cheap perfume Emma buys at the knock off stands in Chinatown, bury her hands in those thick curls, and everything else. _Everything_.

 

She picks up her cell delicately. Her hands shake with nerves but her voice is strong, “Please come.”

 

Emma barely hears it with her clothes muffling the sound and the kettle blowing spurts of steam through it’s opening, but she does hear it. The message is clear, but she still hesitates. Will she be able to see Regina and keep those pesky feelings away? Through the phone, it’s easy to hide a blush, play off meaningful words, and act like she isn’t longing to kiss those supple lips she’s been daydreaming about since their selfies. In person, she’ll revert to a bumbling, clumsy mess that keeps her feelings off her sleeve and has trouble expressing herself. Will she be able to handle the pain that comes from an unreciprocated crush?

 

 _“I personally think falling in love with a person’s soul when you haven’t seen the body it’s encased in is much more romantic and meaningful.”_ Layla’s words suddenly hit her like a train. _Falling in love_ . Emma didn’t deny it at the time. Why didn’t she deny it? Love is... big. It’s a big thing. A crush can be dealt with appropriately but love is... it’s a big thing! Well, _fuck_.

 

She’s already screwed no matter what she chooses. She’s utterly in love with a woman that will never love her back. The thought has her heart dropping with disappointment. She’s screwed either way, but Regina isn’t. Regina wants to meet her, for god knows what reason, and if that would make her friend happy, then she’ll put her own crap aside. For Regina, she’ll do it.

 

“I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

Spending several hours trapped in a moving vehicle with Snow is about as fun as having your teeth extracted with pliers. She plays classical fucking music, for christ’s sake. She also drives like a bonafide maniac, swerving from lane to lane on the highway as she goes twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. Emma does not want to die listening to Vivaldi.

 

“Look at us!” Snow yells over the wind booming in from the window. “We’re like Thelma and Louise!”

 

“Didn’t they die at the end?”

 

Snow tilts her head back and just laughs in response, which isn’t very reassuring. She’s gripping the handle on the roof of the old Mercedes for dear life and contemplating if she’d survive a tumble out of this car at this speed—Snow revs the engine and cuts a guy off in the center lane—Yeah, probably _not_.

 

Emma thumps her head against the headrest three times. She can’t believe she’s wishing for Christmas music, but literally anything sounds better to her than an orchestra right now. She nonchalantly requests some festive music and Snow, ever ready to please, switches out _The Very Best Of Vivaldi_ with a homemade CD that has hand drawn snowmen and Christmas trees on it.

 

She exhales, relieved that she doesn’t have to listen to— For fucks sake, _Mariah_. She coughs. Beggars can’t be choosers. She does not acknowledge the fact that her foot starts tapping to the rhythm and her head sways back and forth in time with the beat.

 

“Are we close yet?” Emma asks right after the last chorus.

 

“We’re still in New Hampshire, but getting close to the border. We should get there before sundown.” Snow answers.

 

She nods. She’s slightly nervous but mostly excited. Dealing with Leo will be a pain in the ass considering their relationship has been harsh and toxic from the start, but Regina is worth it. She can play nice with the old fucker.

 

She darts her eyes toward Snow, who’s checking the side mirror to see if she can cut off the woman on the left lane. “So, um,” Emma starts, feigning obliviousness, “who am I meeting this week besides your dad?”

 

Snow looks over with a tense smile that’s completely inauthentic, almost like it’s more for Emma’s benefit than anything else. “Well, my step mother will also be there.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Emma’s not an actress but the performance she’s putting on right now is Oscar worthy.

 

“My daddy married her a few years ago, not long after my mom passed away.” Snow drums her fingers on the steering wheel as _Let It Snow_ starts it’s last chorus. Not even Martina McBride’s dulcet tone could mask the bitterness in Snow’s voice. “She’s... cold, prickly, stoic. I wanted to be close to her but she was always pushing me away.”

 

 _“Not the woman I know,”_ Emma thinks.

 

Instead she turns away and says, “That sucks.”

 

“But don’t worry, Emma, you don’t really have to talk to her. She probably won’t even acknowledge you and will spend the whole week holed up in the bedroom.” Snow’s knuckles turn white against the steering wheel as she swerves into the left lane, finally cutting off the lady in the Honda she’s been eyeing for ten minutes.

 

“Who knows. Maybe I’ll charm her.” Emma smirks as she presses her nose against the cold glass of her window. Snow sighs. She’s probably wearing a frown and flashing sad doe eyes her way, thinking that Emma is going to be attempting the impossible and be left uncomfortable. If she knew the truth...

 

“Emma, she’s... just don’t worry about her. You can mend fences with daddy and we can hang out. It’ll be fun!”

 

Mending fences with Leopold White sounds about as appealing as a root canal. The bastard is a spiteful bigot. She doesn’t need to kiss his ass and make up, not when the passive aggressive emails have been working for them—well, her. Leo’s just had to face-plant into some humble pie and suck it up, especially when her modern ideas have proved over and over to be what the audience wants. He may hate her, but she brings him ratings and money.

 

“Your dad is my arch nemesis. I’ll be civil and all that jazz, but I’m not gonna act like his buddy.” Emma sniffs, “As for your stepmom... I like a challenge.”

 

Snow drops the subject after that, probably thinking Emma has no idea what she’s talking about and will agree with her after meeting Regina. She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried and Emma can’t wait to see the look on Snow’s face when she and Regina are actually hitting it off. Of course, they’re going to downplay it, otherwise the White’s would get suspicious, but they’ll play nice whenever father and daughter are around then be themselves behind closed doors or while out and about. Last night, after Snow fell asleep on the futon, Emma called Regina back and they ironed out all the details.

 

This will work and neither Snow nor Leo can ruin this for them.

 

* * *

 

Regina tugs on the left side of the wreath hanging on the front door and, ignoring the nippy chill floating in from the open door, smiles when it falls perfectly aligned. With that properly handled, she closes the door to jog toward the study where the Christmas tree stands and double checks everything. The strewn white lights, the candy cane themed stockings, and the bright red ornaments melding perfectly with white accent pieces on the tree. It was perfect. Regina clasps her hands nervously as Leo walks in from the kitchen, a beer encased in his hand.

 

He takes one look at her and says, “You’ve been quite excited about Christmas since Snow called the other day.” _Since Snow guilt-tripped him into allowing Emma to stay with them for the week._

 

Regina turns her back to him and unnecessarily fiddles with the picture frames on the side table by the couch, as if trying to align them even though she already meticulously placed them there this morning. “Well, I enjoy hosting.”

 

It’s a complete lie. In actuality, Regina detests hosting guests or entertaining because Leo’s musty friends and colleagues ruined it for her. They barge in with their entitled and obnoxious attitudes and order her around the whole night, like she’s their servant. The last time she hosted someone other than Snow, she had to withstand lecherous ogling from that miscreant Leo sics on Emma. _Robin Hood_. Regina could vomit just thinking about him.

 

Leo doesn’t call her out, though she can feel his heated gaze on the back of her neck. He simply replies, “As long as my daughter is happy...”

 

The threat is vague, but it’s there. Regina hears it loud and clear, maybe because she’s _knows_ him too well. It doesn’t intimidate her as much as it used to, for some reason. She calmly runs her finger over the silver frame housing a picture of Snow, at the tender age of eleven, on her favorite horse, the very one Regina saved her from. A moment of courage has her saying, “I’m looking forward to meeting the infamous Miss Swan.”

 

“ _Looking forward to it?_ ” Leopold repeats incredulously.

 

She faces him and latches her gaze on the glass beer bottle in his hand. “ _Yes_ , Leo, I am intrigued by this girl.” She straightens her spine and looks him dead in the eye. “She’s brave enough to be insubordinate, she stands up for what she believes in, yet still managed to charm your daughter and get your blessing to come here today.” She shrugs. “I’m intrigued.”

 

He doesn’t respond, which is surprising because he’s so hellbent on being the dictator of the home and treating her like a child. Maybe it’s her _audacity_ that shocks him into silence. He’s not used to her speaking up, challenging him, and it’s a treacherous path to take but she doesn’t care anymore. Come what may, because she’s done being a punching bag Leo uses for pleasure and hard labor. The reason she entered this marriage is slowly withering away on her childhood ranch a few miles south from Storybrooke and her patience has run thin. She knows she’s not going to stay much longer, only until her father passes and has a proper funeral and burial, which Cora certainly couldn’t afford to do on her own. Once her father is at peace, she can start searching for some peace of her own. Regina knows Leo senses this shift in her attitude. So far, he’s let it slide. _Maybe he’s a little tired too_ , Regina thinks.

 

The silence is shattered by a car engine and headlights shining through the front window. Leo sets his beer down on the desk next to him and starts walking toward the front foyer. “They’re here.” The usual vibrance and joy is still present in his voice but it’s slightly subdued, especially when he catches a glimpse of blonde hair through the glass window on the side of the door and hears a bout of rambunctious laughter accompanying Snow’s tittering voice.

 

Regina’s heart pangs nervously as she steps into the foyer behind Leo. She’s been agonizing over this moment, the first time they meet, for a while now, but it only worsened after Emma agreed to come. She’s been told she’s frigid, has heard the nickname they’ve given her at the country club— _The Evil Queen_ —and she knows every malicious adjective that’s been pinned on her are valid. She _is_ cold and detached with these people. Her guard is up at all times. She doesn’t fit in. So she distances herself from them, awaiting the day she doesn’t have to bother anymore.

 

But with Emma? She wants to be close to her, open, but she’s programmed to push people away, and she’s genuinely terrified she’ll clam up and ruin this friendship.

 

She’s worried until the door opens and her eyes land on Emma Swan, and she can hardly fight off the smile threatening to break out on her lips.

 

The two women lock gazes and have an entire conversation in those few seconds Leo and Snow are distracted by each other. The warmth and kindness in Emma’s eyes eases her fears, because she knows Emma and Emma knows her. Her heart is already open.

 

“Daddy, you already know Emma.” Snow pats Leo’s shoulder, urging him forward to thrust out a hand in greeting. Emma reluctantly grips his hand tightly and jerks his arm forward so hard he’s stumbles. It takes every ounce of self control Regina has to not laugh at Leo’s stupefied expression. Snow eyes pop open as she shakes her head scoldingly.

 

“Miss Swan... so nice to see you.” Leo mutters sarcastically as he yanks his hand out of Emma’s death grip. The blonde just beams back at him, because she knows it’ll get a rise out of the bastard.

 

“And Emma, this is my step—“

 

“Regina. I’m Regina Mills.” The correction silences the room. Emma bites the inside of her cheek as Snow clears her throat uncomfortably and Regina gingerly takes the same hand she just used to manhandle Leo with a smile. “Welcome to our home, Emma.”

 

Snow blanches at the sweet tone Regina’s taking, which is utterly satisfying for the older brunette. Emma’s too busy admiring the smile that’s played a part in one too many fantasies lately to notice the tension slowly descending on them, and replies jovially, “Thanks for having me.”

 

The suggestive words spoken in that husky tone has Regina squirming, squeezing Emma’s hand lightly as if chastising her being so forward. Emma’s smile twitches as she holds in her amusement. It’s difficult, especially when she hears Snow squeak nervously then stutter through the rest of the introduction. Regina slyly rolls her eyes when Snow emphasizes she’s Leo’s wife. Emma covertly strokes the back of Regina’s hand and the brunette is instantly comforted. Then Emma lets go, because the hand hold has passed the normal, platonic duration. The warmth of the connection dissipates as Snow takes Emma by the arm and starts a tour of the large property, leaving Regina alone with her husband in the foyer.

 

“So that’s the little bitch that’s made my life a living hell.” Leo hisses under his breath and Regina’s hand curls into a tight fist.

 

Upstairs, in Snow’s childhood bedroom, Emma stares out the back window and gapes at the expansive backyard. She spots a tennis court, a basketball court, and a large garden with polychromatic flowers and several wooden benches. A large part of her huffs at the disgusting show of wealth, but she gets that Snow was born into this lifestyle while Emma was dumped on the side of the road and left to die so their perspectives and life paths are unfamiliar territory to each other. Life is a fucking bitch like that.

 

“I can’t _believe_ that just happened,” Snow whispers desperately as she slams her bedroom door shut. She whirls to face Emma and presses her back against the door. “She was _nice_ to you.”

 

Emma smugly replies, “I did tell you I’m charming, did I not?”

 

“ _Emma_ , I don’t think I’be seen Regina smile in years! And she welcomed you with open arms—god, it’s like I’m in the twilight zone!” Snow slaps her hands against her thighs, frustrated and in absolute disbelief.

 

With Snow’s sanity slowly spiraling down the drain, Emma walks toward her friend with her palms facing outward in a placating gesture and lies, “She probably knew it’d make you this crazy, Snow.”

 

The justification is perfect. Snow sags against the door as she nods. “Yeah... yeah, she would do that.”

 

Emma shrugs, not sure what else to say. She’s slightly irritated that Snow actually believes Regina is conniving enough to play nice with Snow’s friends just to piss her off, but she knows Regina is closed off with Snow. Emma knows Regina, but Snow knows the resentful woman that was forced into a toxic marriage and stepmother role in order to save her father. It’s hard to reconcile the two sides of the older brunette she’s become extremely close with, even if she knows better than anyone that misery loves company.

 

To bring some levity back, Emma smirks playfully, pokes Snow’s side, and jokes, “If it makes you feel any better, your dad still wants me dead.”

 

Snow whacks her on the bicep as she struggles to not laugh. “My best friend and father hating each other isn’t funny!”

 

“Mhmm.” Emma hums knowingly before glancing toward the window. “You gonna show me the backyard—if you can even call that enormous piece of land a backyard?”

 

Snow happily agrees to walk her around the estate and shows her the many features, like the two heated swimming pools, the batting cages, and the small trail that flows through a patch of wooded area near the end of the property. It’s totally nauseating and pretentious, but Snow doesn’t seem to be bragging and doesn’t sound condescending, so Emma figures Snow has never experienced poverty or monetary struggles. This extravagance is all she knows and her excitement is not based on boasting. Snow’s simply happy to be sharing this part of her life with Emma. It’s tone deaf but kind of sweet too.

 

When they pass a small run-down wooden structure, Snow looks ready to walk right by it without comment but Emma is quick to ask what it is since it’s the only thing on the property that isn’t pristine.

 

“It was a stable.” Snow scuffs the toe of her shoe into the cobblestone path as she explains, “I used to ride horses but daddy stripped it down after I lost control of my horse one day.”

 

Emma thinks of Regina’s forlorn voice telling her she doesn’t ride horses anymore and wonders why this was taken away from both Regina and Snow alike. It’s really the only thing the two had in common and Leo literally tore it down instead of letting the hobby build a bridge between his daughter and the girl tasked with raising her. It’s just odd and ass-backwards.

 

After their detour at the former stable, Snow leads her back into the house, where the scent of mouth watering food could be detected from the moment they stepped through the sliding doors. Leo trudges into the dining room with an almost empty beer bottle and smiles lovingly at Snow then throws a scathing glare at Emma, who was too busy staring through the archway into the kitchen, where Regina was stirring something methodically, to notice.

 

Emma excuses herself politely to step into the warm kitchen, ignoring Snow’s questioning gaze as she goes. Regina feels her presence immediately and the calm that falls over her is warm and blissful. A smile stretches her lips but she doesn’t say anything. Neither does Emma. It’s safer to keep what they feel locked away when Leo and Snow are in such close proximity, especially when their bodies tell each other everything they need to know.

 

Emma’s just content to sit in this silence and watch Regina add pinches of spices to the pot she’s been stirring. Regina’s right here in front of her, in tall heels that accentuate her athletic calves and tight slacks that fit every curve so perfectly, and Emma’s so screwed. She’s gone over this woman in a way that’s so unfair.

 

“A picture lasts longer,” A much too familiar husky voice says and Emma’s eyes shoot up from Regina’s ass to those knowing, amused brown eyes. “Or so I’ve heard.”

 

Emma props her elbow on the center island and leans her head on her fist as she whispers, “I already have a picture.”

 

“Mmm,” Regina bends forward to grab the salt on the counter and smirks when she hears Emma’s quiet groan. She suggestively peers over her shoulder and replies, “You don’t have a picture of that.”

 

 _Well, that’s definitely flirtatious_ , Emma thinks. She swallows the hope and just plays it off with a quick wink. Regina wants to say more, wants to make her intentions and her feelings clear, but Emma seems stiff and awkward now so she drops it. It’s possible Emma just feels uncomfortable speaking like this when her friend is in the next room and could walk in at any moment, so she pushes the panic away and turns back to the meal she’s whipping up.

 

She’s too preoccupied by Regina’s ass to notice Snow leaning against the doorway. “Emma?” Snow huffs, annoyed, and Emma almost goes flying off her stool as Regina flinches over at the stove. When Emma looks at Snow, the brunette continues, “Dad wants to go visit mom. Do you want to tag along?”

 

 _Hell no._ Taking a short trip to the cemetery didn’t sound too appealing, especially when staying means she’d get alone time with Regina, but declining would be insensitive so she nods.

 

Regina gives her a small encouraging smile as Snow drags her from the kitchen. She doesn’t want Emma to think she’s upset with her because she agreed to go visit Eva. As much as she hates it, Emma is Snow’s friend as well. Regina’s smile sears into Emma’s brain and leaves her feeling content despite the somber atmosphere draping around the White family as they shuffle out the front door.

 

While Regina turns back to the boiling pot in front of her, Emma’s corralled into the Mercedes with father and daughter. The cemetery is empty and eerily quiet at this time of the afternoon. It’s obvious, though, that this place is for the wealthy. The landscaping is intricate and well-kept and the gigantic main building looks like a castle. Being here, seeing the graves and choking on the dense air, makes her think of the cemetery where her friend Lily was buried. In contrast to this place, Lily’s resting place was an embarrassment. Even in death, poor bastards like Lily, like Emma, are treated like garbage, tossed into a hole and forgotten.

 

She swallows her resentment as she watches the pair amble over and into the outdoor mausoleum then tugs her phone from her pocket and clicks the only number on her favorites.

 

She doesn’t have to wait very long. “Hello, dear. Missing me already?”

 

Emma runs her fingernails across the leather interior seats of the vintage car as she smirks playfully. “Always.”

 

Regina’s cheeks turn bright red at that. That single word is enough to make Regina’s knees weak, which is quite pathetic but she can’t find it in her to care, not when this elation has eluded her for most of her life. She takes a deep, calming breath then says, “I’m looking forward to having a moment alone with you.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Emma replies. She checks through the window to make sure Snow and Leo are still inside the mausoleum. Coast is clear. “I, uh, I think Snow is a little suspicious.”

 

“Not surprising.” Regina bitterly remembers young Snow’s judgement expression when she caught Regina kissing the stable boy. That little snitch always had a startling way of sniffing things out.

 

“I guess we gotta cool it a little.” Emma offers as a solution, “Maybe be a little cold with me when we get back?”

 

“Of course, dear, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure to warm you up when we’re alone.” Now it’s Emma’s turn to flush at the obvious come-on. It seems insane, but maybe Regina isn’t just messing around, even if history suggests Emma’s being toyed with. Well, if there’s a chance she’ll be sorely disappointed, she might as well enjoy the ride beforehand.

 

“Now that sounds pretty enjoyable. I’m looking forward to it.”

 

Regina shyly pushes a tendril of hair behind her ear as she leans back against the kitchen counter. With the ham roasting in the oven and her sweet glaze prepared, it’s simply a waiting game until the meat is ready for its first coating. She’s rooted to the kitchen to make sure everything goes smoothly. This meal has be perfect for the guest of honor.

 

“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, Emma.” Regina shuts her eyes tightly to stunt the tears pooling in them. “I wish everything was different.”

 

Even though Regina tries to hide it, her voice is shaky and husky, and Emma sees right through her. “Hey, don’t get upset. It’s alright. I know life kind of sucks right now for you but I’m here and—and I’ll wait for you, Regina.”

 

 _I’ll wait for you_.

 

It’s submerged in hidden meaning and dripping with adoration. This patient caring is new and liberating, and it’s been happening for months. Emma’s been changing her from the moment they first spoke and now she’s so gone over this woman that it’s frightening, because she’s married to a jealous, angry man, her father is losing his battle with cancer, and her mother would detest the fluttery feelings Regina experiences every time she even thinks of Emma. It’s almost like she was drowning and Emma just gave her air. For as long as she could remember, love came with an asterisk, a stipulation, but now she’s receiving it so freely and she’s not sure she can pretend anymore.

 

She can’t pretend the only thing between them is attraction or simple appreciation. It’s more, so much more. She just hopes Emma means it because when this mess of a marriage is over, she wants to be all in.

 

While Regina silently mulls over this, Emma blanches at the lack of response and clears her throat. Leo’s voice reaches her and she turns to see the duo grimly exiting the mausoleum. “Uh, I have to go now. Don’t feel bad giving me the cold shoulder. It’ll make both of our lives easier. See you soon.”

 

Before Regina can say anything, the call is ended.

  



	5. Chapter 5

_ To: Emma Swan and 57 others _

_ From: Sidney Glass _

_ Subject: Happy Holidays _

 

_ Dear staff, I’d like to wish you all a safe and pleasant holiday break. The Enchanted Christmas Ball is still scheduled for the twentieth of December. If you don’t attend, I shall see you back at the office in January.  _

 

_ Side note: Learn from the incident last year and make sure you aren’t replying to all when sending inappropriate pictures. Alcohol is no excuse. You’ll end up like Arthur. _

 

* * *

 

Emma throws the pillows Snow handed her onto the guest bed and arranges them how she would at home, then quickly disrobes to jump into soft flannel pajamas that always warmed her during chilly nights.

 

And how chilly it had been. 

 

Sure, she felt exposed after her weighted confession on the phone but she hadn’t meant to scurry off and leave Regina hanging. She didn’t think it would be that big of a deal but Regina’s attitude did a complete one-eighty. She was cold, disconnected, and, at times, outright rude to everyone except Leopold, though her digs at Snow did not go unnoticed by the man. Of course, those barbs were expected considering the sour history between step daughter and step mother, but then Regina started in on Emma too. 

 

When Snow’s request for Emma to pass the glaze for her ham went unheard, Snow sighed and called out to snap her from her stupor. Regina shot them a disinterested glance as she mocked, “Hmm, not surprising, dear. I hear she has trouble following directions.”

 

Leo loved  _ that _ one. His smug grin remained on his lips throughout the rest of dinner while Emma kept her eyes locked on the design on the fine china until Snow excused herself and she followed eagerly, looking for any way out of that dining room. 

 

She knows she told Regina to be colder to ease suspicions but that was  _ hypothermic _ . She isn’t sure if the hostility was genuine or not. Did she piss off the brunette by hanging up on her at the cemetery or was it just a ploy? She just—

 

A timid knock pulls her from those thoughts and Emma, thinking it was Snow again, rolls her eyes. “Snow, I’m fine. Just go to sleep.”

 

Then the door slowly creaks open and Regina slips through, having the decency to look sheepish. But Emma has already forgiven her, because Regina is leaning against the now closed door with no makeup on, a silky teddy with lace kissing her upper thighs, and her brown eyes are so warm and soft that they rival the flannel on Emma’s body. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Regina whispers into the dimly lit bedroom but doesn’t move. 

 

Emma smiles, though a twinge of sadness lines it. “I know. It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not and I feel terrible.” Regina sighs, but finally steps away from the door to sit next to Emma on the large bed. “I didn’t mean it, not a single word.”

 

“I know.” Emma reaches over and squeezes Regina’s thigh. She’s mostly relieved that it wasn’t true bitterness spewing from the brunette tonight, but she thinks she can understand Snow a bit better now. She understands both of them. 

 

Regina was angry, lashing out, and she couldn’t take it out on Leo or her domineering mother, so Snow took much of the heat. Anyone trapped in Regina’s position would feel an ever growing panic from being trapped, in every sense of the word, but Snow didn’t—doesn’t— understand. Snow believes her father is saintly, a good man with good intentions. She’s naive and self-absorbed, and maybe she does deserve some of the blame, but Regina and Snow could’ve been allies in this. Instead, there’s tense resentment and acrid hatred between them. She’s just relieved she can be the ally Snow never was, because she does understand Regina, in a way the brunette isn’t even aware of yet. 

 

“About the phone call,” Emma starts nervously, “I hope I didn’t say anything to make you uncomfortable?”

 

Regina suddenly seems really interested in the white carpet. Her eyes dart everywhere but the blonde next to her, but her hand twitches closer to Emma’s, which helps soothe some of the debilitating anxiety that built up in her chest. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable, Emma. Quite the opposite, which is what unnerves me.”

 

“The opposite?” Emma asks.

 

“I’ve never been... with a woman and,” Regina exhales shakily, “the thought makes me so...” Emma slides her hand over the duvet to just lay her fingers over the back of Regina’s hand and the touch causes the brunette’s lips to twitch, like she’s holding back a smile. “It excites me, but I’m here and my father isn’t doing so well—”

 

“It’s bad timing.” Emma finishes with a sad quirk of her lips. She shouldn’t be surprised, really. Nothing ever goes her way, especially when it comes to family and love. It’s fine, it’s what she expected—actually it’s more than she expected. She never thought Regina would return any feelings, so at least she can drink herself into a stupor knowing—

 

“Will you wait for me?” The question is uttered nervously, under her breath, and those soulful eyes finally connect with Emma’s stunned ones. 

 

“You want me to?” Emma needs to hear it, needs to know she isn’t interpreting this wrong. Hope seizes her heart when Regina’s hand flips to intertwine their fingers.

 

“I do.” Regina smiles, her eyes so bright it could rival the stars. Then she suggestively purrs, “But, maybe just this once, you could give me a spoiler of what’s to come?”

 

A shudder runs down Emma’s spine and Regina bites her lip to hold in the chuckle rumbling in her chest but the laughter dies when Emma cradles her blushing cheeks with warm hands and rubs her thumbs across the soft skin. Regina’s eyes slowly close under the soothing touch but Emma’s lips never come.

 

“I want to kiss you, Regina.” Emma whispers. Regina feels the breath on her mouth, making her lips fall open. “I want so many things, like to kiss and touch and make you moan my name, but one of those things I want is to do right by you, which means I don’t want to get you in trouble or put you in a tough position.”

 

Regina’s heart palpitates at the sweet consideration and care. She wants a kiss, she wants it badly, but she holds back, knowing the blonde is right. Leo and Snow are just down the hall and could catch them being intimate, and they’d both be strung out and punished for it. So she can give Emma this, and when the time comes to take this step, it’ll be worth the wait.  She nods, squishing her cheeks into Emma’s hands at the motion, and when her eyes open to see so much adoration swimming in green irises, she feels the warmth spread through every vein. 

 

Emma does drop forward to place a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead then whispers into her skin, “Lay with me a little while?”

 

“I can’t fall asleep.” Regina stipulates. If Leo wakes up during the night and sees her side of the bed empty, he’d search for her. It’s his controlling nature. The last thing either of them need is Leo finding Regina cuddled in Emma’s arms.

 

Emma nods as she scoots back toward the pillows and lies down, patting the free space next to her then gesturing for Regina to come closer. The older woman crawls over and settles into Emma’s side, dropping her head onto the blonde’s chest, and draping her arm across a lithe waist. They hum, content and warm in the large room, letting the silence of the house drift over them. They hear each other breathing, intermixed with creaks of the house settling and static from the appliances downstairs. Leo’s snores barely penetrate the thick bedroom walls, but it’s enough to keep Regina awake and vigilant. She should’ve locked the door when she came in.

 

Regina isn’t sure how long they stay like that, wrapped around each other and innocently running their hands over curves and heated flesh, but her mind relaxes and her body relies on sense. She smells Emma’s spicy perfume and fruity shampoo. She can feel Emma’s heart beating rhythmically against her rib cage and her skin produce goosebumps when Regina ghosts her fingers on her bicep. She can see Emma’s soft curls, and feel them tickling her nose, and she can see the steady rise and fall of Emma’s chest. When she places a loving kiss to Emma’s collarbone, she somehow tastes cinnamon. The experience is so visceral and soothing for her soul. It sounds cliche, she knows it does, but perhaps cliches have merit. 

 

After a while, Emma’s breathing slows and her fingers cease the light rubbing between Regina’s shoulder blades. She’s asleep, her face serene. Regina carefully extracts her body, stands slowly, then gently pulls up the duvet to cover Emma’s torso. She stunts the overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss her forehead for fear of waking the blonde, who looks comfortable and peaceful as she sleeps. She knows she’d be just as peaceful if she could fall asleep safely secured in those arms, but Leo’s snoring is there as a reminder. 

 

Just like everything else, it would have to wait. 

 

* * *

 

“I was thinking,” Snow mentions casually at breakfast, “it would be nice to show you around the country club, Emma.”

 

It’s not phrased as a question and Emma’s muscle tense, because going to some snooty club for the rich and spoiled was literally the last thing she wants to do. Regina notices her grimace and hides a smirk by shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth and chewing slowly. 

 

“Uh, listen,” Emma grimaces apologetically, “I’m not a country club kind of girl, so I’m thinking I’ll pass, but you should go with your dad. Spend some quality time together.”

 

Regina bites her lip to control the mirth threatening to spill onto her face but Snow doesn’t notice her pleasure. The young brunette is too busy pouting at Emma from the doorway. “I feel bad just leaving you behind...”

 

“I’ll be fine here, catching up on rest and work.” Emma waves her off. “Go have a good time.”

 

It’s with extreme reluctance that Snow waddles out of the mansion with a much too gleeful Leo after breakfast, leaving Emma and Regina at the dining room table in comfortable silence until Regina can’t contain herself anymore.

 

“That was quite smooth, Emma.” 

 

Emma snorts. “It was the truth! Being chummy with all those entitled assholes isn’t my style.” Emma shyly smiles at the brunette next to her. “Besides, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

And just like that, Regina forgets why they’re taking things so slow and has to fight the urge to jump over her chair armrest and finally do what she’s been craving to since Emma arrived. The blonde diverts the conversation before any action is taken by gripping Regina’s hand and asking her about the weather. As if Regina cares about anything other than those thin pink lips. 

 

Since the weather isn’t unbearably cold, Regina throws on a light sweater and takes Emma to a small pond at the edge of the property. It was a safe haven for Regina years ago, when Leo was home more often and his expectations were too high. The pond water is dark and muddy, but the lily pads and pieces of ice sitting on top contrast against it beautifully. There’s a subtle beauty to its peaceful nature and Emma’s enraptured by it, even though she never really stops to smell the roses. The city wasn’t a prime spot for stuff like this. Nature there was muddled by loud traffic horns and chirping human beings.

 

“You come here a lot?” Emma asks as she watches as a fractured slab of ice bobs on the water.

 

Regina tilts her chin up to bask in the warm sunlight. “Not as much now, but it’s still my favorite spot on the property.” She turns to Emma and basks in the tranquil expression on soft features instead. Her eyes roam over Emma’s tight clothing, a white tank top and black jean combo that flatters her muscular figure. The thick red leather jacket just adds to her appeal. Her cheeks warm as ours want floods her body. “I keep thinking about us...”

 

Regina’s tone doesn’t give away whether the thoughts are positive or negative and Emma’s heart beats just a bit faster. “Yeah?”

 

“I keep wishing we had met before, in high school or—I don’t know.” Regina blushes, making her face look so young and innocent despite the invisible scars that mar her. 

 

“I would’ve been the raggedy orphan that never caught your eye.” Emma mumbles. 

 

“I can’t imagine a single instance where you wouldn’t throw my world off its axis just by existing, Emma.” 

 

The words are a declaration, something layered and emotional and affirming, and Emma feels so much content and affection flood her body. Regina’s gaze never veers away from Emma’s now glossy green eyes. 

 

Suddenly, Emma knows she’d wait several lifetimes for this woman. 

 

Regina scoots closer to her on the bench. She looks shy and uncertain as she says, “After you leave, we may not see each other for a long while.”

 

It’s a thought Emma doesn’t want to dig into, because it’s true and she’s not sure she can handle phone calls when she’s touched Regina’s skin. 

 

Regina continues, sliding her hand over Emma’s as she does, “I know we said we’d wait to be together but...”

 

It’s the deep desire she can hear in Regina’s voice and see swimming in Regina’s gaze that has her resolve slowly withering away. “Regina...”

 

Their lips connect so, so softly, brimming with enough affection to keep their hearts afloat. It’s innocent, a simple, tender sliding of lips. They pull back, hands cupping cheeks and the curves of their necks, and lean back in to peck supple lips together several times before Emma gently nibbles on Regina’s lower lip. It spikes Regina’s desire and she leans back, away from Emma’s searching mouth. 

 

“They’ll be gone for hours,” Regina whispers, the words sultry and delivered with enough innuendo to throw Emma off balance. “We have the house to ourselves.”

 

Emma pops out of her seat and bends to lift Regina—who squeals so girlishly that Emma actually giggles along with her—into her arms, those strong legs and thighs wrapping around Emma’s waist. Thank god Leo is an evil bastard that refuses to hire a staff because Emma knows they won’t be able to contain themselves. 

 

“Emma!” 

 

Yeah, they can’t keep their mouths shut. 

 

Emma jogs toward the house as fast as she can manage while lugging a squirming grown woman over her shoulder. She narrowly misses complete disaster four times, because squelching across a grassy field on a dewy morning spells trouble, but they make it all the way to Emma’s guest room unscathed. 

 

Regina’s uncharacteristic giggles have Emma smiling as she drops the woman onto the mattress then plops down beside her so they’re facing one another. Regina’s hand traces over Emma’s cheek sweetly as a warm grin stretches her lips.

 

“Emma...” She whispers, “My Emma.”

 

The words are so genuine and heartfelt that the blonde woman has to swallow a gasp. Her eyes water, she bites her lip, her hand covers the tan one now on her jaw, and she leans in to place a delicate kiss to the tip of Regina’s nose. It says everything Emma can’t. 

 

But the hands eventually become less delicate, more forceful with squeezes and trailing nails as they explore the warm skin under them, and Emma kisses her like she’s never kissed anyone. Probably because she’s never felt this way about anyone before. It’s heated, passionate, but there’s an underlying care and perhaps even love. It’s evident in Emma cupping the back of Regina’s head so she doesn’t accidentally get hurt when they flip positions and it’s Regina running the pads of her fingers over a small scar on Emma’s neck, one received over a decade ago in the bedroom of a foster parent she can barely remember anymore. 

 

They’re tangled together as they shift toward the pillows. Regina moans when a knee knocks between her legs and presses on her pulsing clit and Emma almost comes on the spot. They’re both so wound up. For Regina, sex has always been a burden so to be entangled with someone she desperately wants is uncharted territory. For Emma, sex was always about pleasure, selfish satisfaction and greedy need, but here, in this moment, all she cares about is the trembling woman underneath her. This sex isn’t selfish, as it should be, and it’s almost like the world is a bit different now that she can understand. 

 

“Emma, please.” Regina mumbles under her breath, through a gasp, but Emma feels the words in her bones. 

 

“Are you sure?” She asks, because she knows sex has been a touchy subject and she knows these mansion walls have witnessed some terrible things and the last thing she will ever do is pressure Regina in the way her husband does. 

 

And while Regina absolutely appreciates the sentiment, she’s been waiting for a moment like this since she was a young teenager reading romance novels and fantasizing about a first time that would leave her wanting more. Until now, she hasn’t experienced it but she already can tell Emma is her chance. This woman that makes her feel irreplaceable and unique... or maybe even special. 

 

So she gives her consent, freely and without reservation, by lunging forward and sucking on Emma’s plump bottom lip until it swells between her teeth. Emma sinks into Regina’s body and groans into her mouth until Regina detaches to slip her tongue into Emma’s mouth. An unintelligible sound escapes Emma as her hips jolt to slot perfectly against the other woman.

 

Their lips fall apart and Regina looks so beautiful completely breathless and blushing, and Emma can’t contain herself anymore. She starts tugging Regina’s sweater, blouse, dark slacks, and lacy underwear off with enough desperation to be considered embarrassing if she cared. 

 

Just like she would be embarrassed at the loud groan she lets out when their bare bodies finally align, nipples pressed together and bellies bumping, if Regina didn’t simultaneously release a desperate, high pitched whimper. Their bodies rock in a steady rhythm as Emma’s mouth travels to distended nipples to suck on each peak fervently, which drives Regina’s fingers into her golden hair, encouraging the action. 

 

She lowers until her torso is laying between Regina’s thighs then places quick kisses on the pliable muscle leading up to her core. She admires the other woman, taking in the pungent scent and just how beautiful Regina is like this, open, exposed, and writhing. 

 

She must take too long because Regina groans “Emma, please” as her hands tug at blonde hair to urge her toward her glistening folds. She can’t deny a request like that, not when she’s shaking in anticipation, so she lowers her mouth to Regina’s opening and firmly plants her tongue against her then drags up until she can lash the pulsing clit just begging for attention. 

 

Regina’s gasp morphs into a whimper that just heats Emma’s entire body until it’s practically boiling. As her fingers enter Regina and start slowly pumping in and out, she latches her mouth on Regina’s clit and sucks lightly until the brunette is squirming. Only then does she curl her fingers and search for the spot that makes Regina’s hips jerk and her head fall back against the pillows.

 

“Oh, Emma—fuck.” Regina’s quiet now, whimpering under her breath, but her words are filled with want and Emma just knows she’s close. She keeps the rhythm steady, gently curling upward with each thrust then corkscrewing her fingers occasionally to throw Regina off guard. Her tongue laps at her pulsing clit before her lips clamp down around it and suck until Regina’s mewling. 

 

Olive hands grab at blonde curls and the lithe fingers twist until Regina has a fist full of Emma’s hair and can pull her even closer, if even possible. This continues until Regina’s hips buck into an arch and her body spasms under the ministrations. 

 

And as Regina lays breathless on the bed, her chest heaving, her nipples distended and begging to be pinched, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide and unfocused, her smile wide and satisfied, Emma feels like this may be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to her.

 

Until they hear the front door open, that is.

 

Terror floods both of them as they hear Snow‘s muffled chatter and Leo’s answering hums in the foyer but Regina is the first to jump out of the bed and start throwing some of her crinkled clothing back on. She tosses Emma’s onto the bed, which startled the blonde into action. Getting caught in such a comprising state by either White spells doom for both of them and it has her frantically combing out her hair with her fingers once her clothes are slotted back into place.

 

As footsteps climb the staircase, Emma and Regina quickly scan their eyes over each other until they’re satisfied they don’t look freshly fucked then Emma directs Regina toward the closet, which is way too much irony for Emma to handle. 

 

“I’m not—“ Regina starts to squawk under her breath but Emma just shoves her into the closet before she can’t fully complain and shuts the door just as Snow opens the bedroom door and peeks in. 

 

The pale heiress smiles, completely unaware that her step mother is currently in the closet, clothes askew and hair mussed, and Emma has to chew on her inner cheek to keep from snorting at the insanity that is this situation. 

 

“Hey!” Emma manages to cough to hide her amusement then acts casual, leaning against the dresser with a popped hip as she asks, “How was the club? Back so soon?”

 

Snow opens the door fully, takes a step into the room, and smiles warmly. “I felt a bit guilty leaving you here with Regina and decided to cut the trip short. Daddy was disappointed but I think he understands how Regina can be.”

 

Emma bristles but tries to keep her tone light. “Regina’s been a great host, actually.”

 

Snow tilts her head as she takes a seat on the mattress, which Emma has to look away from or she’ll start blushing like a whore at church. A dark brow raises in disbelief, “Emma, you don’t have to lie to make me feel better!” 

 

“I’m not—“

 

Snow waves her off. “I saw how rude she was last night to you and I should’ve been a better friend and stayed. It must’ve been so awkward.”

 

Emma’s fists tighten even more, her nails digging into her palm as her smile turns to acid. Good thing Snow is too self absorbed to even notice it... or the scent of sex in the air. “I’m not trying to assuage your guilt, Snow. Everything was fine—No, it was actually more than fine. She’s pretty great when you get to know her...”

 

“Get to know her?” Snow scoffs. “Be careful with her, Em. She’s... she has the ability to make herself seem sweet and innocent but it’s an act—“

 

“What if it’s the other way around?”

 

“What—?”

 

“What if the rude, cold, and snappy part of her is the act?” 

 

Snow stares at her for so long that Emma actually starts to sweat. She knows how suspect it must sound to Snow to hear her friend defending the woman she believes makes her life hell just for shits and giggles, and she knows she should’ve just shut her mouth and let Snow vent, but she can’t, not when Regina is behind the closet door listening to every word. For some reason, Emma feels like she has to speak up, has to be an ally even when it has the potential to hurt. 

 

“Okay...” Snow drags the word out, her tone holding so much confusion and some apprehension. But then she snaps on a smile Emma can tell isn’t genuine. “I’m going to work on my paper. Want to join me and catch up on work?” 

 

It’s the out she’s been craving so she nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll meet you in the study?”

 

Snow takes the cue, for once, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Regina slips out from the closet. Her eyes are a bit misty and Emma smiles softly, knowing that having someone go to bat for her must be quite a new feeling for the brunette.

 

“Emma...” Regina whispers reverently. Her fingers twitch, like she wants to reach out and hold on tight, but Regina suppresses the urge, mostly because she already feels like a blubbering fool and can’t take the physical intimacy on top of everything. Hell, she just had consensual sex for the first time and it was gentle and loving and with someone she perhaps doesn’t even deserve, and then said someone defended her against Snow despite the possible backlash she could face, and now Emma is standing there with a knowing stare and a kind grin... it’s too much. She can’t get enough, truthfully, but she’s still horrible at being vulnerable like this.

 

“Go on.” Emma gently encourages her toward the door. “We don’t want them catching you in here. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

 

The last part is the reassurance that everything is fine between them, that there would be another chance to talk through all of this after Regina can process it all and once the White family is scarce. Regina smiles back now as she blinks back her tears.

 

“Until then.” Regina mumbles as her hand lurches forward to squeeze Emma’s wrist. Then she turns and leaves the room, also leaving behind a deliriously happy director.

 

A really horny, extremely aroused, deliriously happy director.

 

* * *

 

Snow keeps her in the study until midnight, which is more for Snow’s benefit than anything. Emma just kept her company while she worked on her assignment because the young director couldn’t concentrate on her own work when her mind kept flashing back to sticky arousal and trembling thighs.

 

But their silence is interrupted as Emma notices Leo sneaking out without a word. Snow just stares knowingly toward the direction of the front door when it slams shut then shifts to Emma with a grimace.

 

“He’s a busy man, always working and on the move.” Snow justifies.

 

“I bet...” Emma says. He‘s busy screwing his mistress. Which... is a good thing because it meant he left Regina alone. If only he’d become entranced enough by his mistresses’ pussy to set Regina free and still take care of her father. 

 

Emma‘s ready to drop the subject but Snow must detect some judgment in Emma’s tone, because she jerks her gaze back to the blonde, a harsh glint in it, and says, “He works very hard and it’s not as if Regina makes being home a very appealing option.”

 

Emma grits her teeth and suppresses the urge to scoff. Leopold White makes the mansion cold and impersonal and it’s basically a prison for Regina, but the brunette will never be enough for these people. Not only that but Snow seemed so eager to make a family out of this situation during Thanksgiving and now she’s back to slander and bitterness, and it’s all so twisted.

 

“Your father isn’t a saint, Snow.” Emma responds with tamed aggravation. “He’s difficult to work for, he’s a category five bigot, and he’s fucking any woman with a pulse while your step mom gets crap because she’s snippy sometimes? I would be too if I were in her shoes. This life isn’t a picnic for her, Snow. Maybe think about that instead of going to bat for your dad all the time.”

 

Her tone is too defensive this time. She knows it the moment Snow snaps out of her seat to cross the room with her arms folded and her eyes hard. She hisses, “What’s going on here? Did she say something to you? Though I’d hope you’d give my side of the story more consideration over a woman you don’t even know.”

 

“I’m not...” Emma grimaces as she lamely finishes, “taking sides.”

 

“From where I’m standing, it sure seems like—” Snow stops suddenly and her shoulders droop, the fiery attitude draining away as quickly as it had come, almost as if a realization fell upon her. Before Emma can even open her mouth to question it, Snow blurts, “It’s an act.”

 

Emma wants to interrupt again but something in Snow’s demeanor keeps her silent. The pixie-haired woman shifts on her heels for a few seconds then looks away, toward the closed doors of the study. “That rude, cold side of her is the act. I know that because I know her, even if she doesn’t believe that. She was so bright, so hopeful, so light, and I saw that dim every time I laid eyes on her.”

 

Snow lifts her trembling hand to cover her mouth. “I saw it and didn’t say anything because I was grieving and alone, and I feel guilt about it every time I look at her.”

 

“Then why—“

 

“Because it’s my fault! Because... I know my father married her for me.” Snow pauses as she turns away from Emma and slowly wipes her wet cheeks. “I don’t know how to deal with her, how to push past those walls...”

 

“It’s easier to pretend she’s the problem.” Emma finishes for her and she’s knows it’s spot on by Snow’s harsh flinch. “It’s easier to think she’s just a horrible, manipulative, angry woman than to think you played a part in changing that woman’s life for the worst.”

 

Emma thinks she sees Snow’s head bob in agreement and shuffles forward to sit on the edge of the couch cushion so she can reach out and poke Snow’s rigid back. When the brunette doesn’t react, Emma sighs. “It’s not entirely your fault, Snow. Leo changed her, hardened her, but she can’t be snippy with him obviously so she takes it out on you, and maybe that isn’t fair but... you could try to be an ally, you know? It won’t be easy, she has her walls up with you for sure, but you’re persistent and you can convince her you’re worthy of being let in.”

 

Snow slowly turns back to Emma with a quirked brow, wet and red tinted eyes and flushed cheeks. She stares and stares until Emma fidgets. Then she mumbles, “The way you talk, Emma... it’s like—“

 

A shrill ring emanating from the general direction of Snow’s desk interrupts and the brunette is distracted enough by the particular ringtone to give up her inquiry. She runs over to her laptop to pick up the vibrating cell phone next to it and answers with a smile, their conversation clearly forgotten for now.

 

“David, hello!” Snow pauses, eagerly soaking up whatever information this  _ David _ is saying. Her smile widens as she says, “Yes, I’m home for Christmas but I’ll be back in New York around the twenty-sixth to meet with a diplomat at the United Nations before heading back to DC.” Snow pauses for a beat then continues, “Great, I’ll see you then! Alright, bye.”

 

When the call is ended and the phone is pocketed, Emma latches onto the distraction and pipes up from the couch. “So, uh, got anything you’d like to share with the class?”

 

Snow blushes, a shy smile pulling at her lips. “Just someone I met at the Enchanted Christmas Ball. We’re friends.”

 

Her mind flashes to her favorite sound guy but quickly banishes the thought. She’s pretty sure he has a fiancée and David doesn’t seem the type to step out on anyone. He’s too much of a Prince Charming. Maybe it’s that David Schultz with the lisp from human resources. 

 

“Friends... right.” Emma drawls. Snow clears her throat.

 

“Yes, friends.” Snow starts frantically collecting her papers and laptop from the desk. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.” She sprints out of the room with a parting, “Goodnight!” 

 

Emma chuckles under her breath at her friends anxious denial but she honestly doesn’t care who Snow is shacking up with these days. The one thing she does care about is seeing Regina.

 

So once she hears the quiet snick of Snow’s bedroom door closing, Emma makes her way up the large staircase and softly knocks on the master bedroom. She hears faint footsteps then the door creaks open to reveal a smiling brunette.

 

“ _ Emma _ .” Regina whispers as she tugs the blonde into the room, which slightly shocks the blonde. Regina preached about being careful several times and now was ushering her into the bedroom she shared with her husband. While Leo was probably going to be gone the rest of the night, there was always the chance he’d change the script or that Snow would hear a sound and come investigate. 

 

But her desire to spend time with Regina trumps the fear and anxiety of getting caught, especially since the last time they were together, they’d made love.

 

Emma smiles softly at the grinning brunette then her gaze slowly roams across the room. It’s plain, painted a light beige with similarly colored carpet under their toes, and all of the decor is obviously Leo’s. His diplomas and awards are neatly placed in frames and hung on the far wall and the dressers are adorned with photos of Snow and a woman that resembles her so closely that it must be the infamous Eva White. There isn’t an ounce of Regina in this room and Emma can’t help but feel distraught. 

 

“He shared this room with her.” Regina says suddenly. Emma turns to see the brunette pursing her lips and wringing her hands. “I think he still sees it as theirs. I just warm the bed.”

 

Emma bites her lip to stop herself from interjecting, because her instinct may be to comfort her lover but the truth of the matter is Leo treats Regina like property. He sees her as property, something he earned in a deal. 

 

But she says the one things she knows to be true instead. “You deserve better than this.”

 

Regina doesn’t acknowledge the statement but still takes Emma’s left hand in hers and squeezes then pulls Emma into her body until they’re close enough for their breasts to caress with every breath. Emma shudders and Regina laughs quietly, amused but mostly flattered by the effect she can have on the blonde. 

 

“Did you get any work done, darling?” Regina asks. Emma smiles at the sudden appearance of the tear of endearment but doesn’t question it, not when it makes her feel wanted for once. 

 

“I basically watched Snow do paperwork or write an essay or whatever...” Emma wraps her arms around the brunettes waist and debates bringing up the conversation she had with her friend about Regina, but decides it’s up to Snow to make amends. Emma can’t fix their relationship for them. “I spent those hours thinking about this chick I have a massive crush on.” Emma teases, her lips pulled into a suggestive smirk.

 

Regina returns the smirk, though hers is muddled by genuine joy and it ends up much more affectionate than seductive despite her legs still being wobbly from the earth shattering orgasm Emma’s tongue had brought her. Regina bites her lip before she says, “Sounds like a lucky woman.”

 

“Oh, I beg to differ. I think  _ I _ got pretty  _ lucky _ .” Emma winks through the innuendo and it’s so childish that Regina barely contains a snort. “Speaking of... you’re okay with what happened, right?”

 

Regina smiles softly, knowing Emma  is coming from a place of kindness. “Yes, darling. Though I suppose I feel a bit selfish. I didn’t get the chance to return the favor.”

 

“Some other time, maybe.” Emma doesn’t want to dwell on that subject for very long, knowing Regina’s history with sex and that her inexperience was a bit of a sore spot, so she walks them over to the chaise lounge chair in the corner and slips onto it fully before urging Regina to sidle up next to her. 

 

They mold together perfectly, with Emma’s hard angles and Regina’s soft curves, and Regina exhales deeply into the embrace. She usually hates being held but, like everything else, Emma is making her reevaluate her stance. 

 

“You know,” Emma’s quiet whisper breaks the comfortable silence, “Snow keeps telling me I don’t actually know you—“

 

“She’s an insolent brat.” Regina growls, then softens, “I’d wager you know more about me than anyone, barring my father, of course.” 

 

“I know some of the deep stuff...” Emma shifts to face her. “I guess I just want us to talk more, tell each other more about our past and stuff like that.”

 

Regina hesitates, mostly out of fear that any more knowledge of her past or her current problems will send Emma running for the hills, but she concedes with a nod after a few moments. Truthfully, she wants to have someone that knows her inside and out, that one person that... that  _ loves _ her despite it all. Perhaps it’s foolish. She feels foolish at times, giving way her deepest secrets to a woman she’s only known for a few short months, but it also feels right somehow.

 

“Can I start?” Emma asks nervously as she shifts slightly under Regina, who nods against the rapid rise and fall of her lovers chest. “So I told you I got caught up in trouble and ended up in prison, remember?”

 

Regina nods again, wisely staying silent and letting Emma take the reins. The blonde clears her throat then confesses, “There’s a lot more to it than what I told you and I’m kinda terrified to say it out loud.” 

 

Now, Regina speaks up. “Whatever it is, Emma, it won’t change my perception of you.”

 

A quiet noise of disbelief reaches Regina’s ears. It’s the first time she’s heard the blonde sound so derisive and it automatically makes her uneasy, though she knows deep down there isn’t much that could scare her away from Emma and that Emma tends to be her own worst critic. 

 

There’s silence for a few moments then, “I was pregnant in prison. During my short phase as a straight woman, I got knocked up by my boyfriend at the time, who then set me up to take the fall for his fuck up.”

 

Regina furrows her brow, wondering if there’s a child in New York that Emma hasn’t brought up. A small part of her is hoping for that to be true, hoping that she could become a part of the child’s life in a way she hasn’t been able to by choice. But Emma squashes that with her next words. 

 

“I was young, stupid, impulsive. Hell, I was an orphaned kid myself. What did I know about raising a child?” Emma sighs, “I know giving him up was his best chance, especially since babies are usually adopted quick... but I think about him all the time and I just wonder if I sent him into the same system that fucked me up.”

 

Regina blinks rapidly at the new information, absorbing as much as she can before Emma moves on. 

 

“Have you ever tried to find him?” She lifts her torso to latch her understanding and nonjudgmental gaze onto Emma’s slightly wet one. “I’m not familiar with the foster or adoption system so I’m not sure how it works.”

 

“I... had no say, really. When you’re a prisoner, you have no rights, especially someone like me that had no one on the outside. I got to hold him for a minute and then a social worker came to take him away. I don’t know what happened to him... I wouldn’t even know where to look.”

 

Regina’s hand reflexively rubs soothing circles into Emma’s breastbone. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I can’t imagine.”

 

“I want to find him, though.” Emma says. “If he’s got a good family, then I guess I can rest easy knowing he’s alright. If he doesn’t... maybe I could be his family again, you know? I think I’m ready to be the mom he needed—the mom he needs.” Emma wrinkles her nose self consciously as she asks, “Is that crazy?”

 

Regina sits up abruptly to cup Emma’s cheeks affectionately. “No, darling, not at all. You’d be a fantastic mother, Emma.”

 

“So a toddler isn’t a deal breaker?” 

 

Regina smiles once again, this time it’s fuller and chock full of affection. “Definitely not a deal breaker. It’s actually quite... appealing.”

 

The hidden message, the hint that Regina is all in, is received loud and clear, and Emma grins goofily at the brunette, who can’t contain a quiet snicker at the puppy-dog-like look on Emma’s face. 

 

“You’re kinda cool, Mills.” Emma jokes. Her fingers scratch across the silk covering Regina’s ribs playfully until Regina squirms and lets out a small puff of laughter.

 

They freeze when a creak sounds from down the hall then relax when no other noise follows, signaling it’s just the home settling and not Snow moving about. 

 

“Tell me about your next chef.” Regina eagerly requests, wanting to lighten the mood somewhat.

 

She enjoyed the most recent episode immensely and felt a certain kinship with the middle aged woman that came out as bisexual in her late thirties, divorced her husband and married her female best friend from high school. Though she was slightly biased considering she cared deeply for the director,  _ On The Dinner Table _ has quickly become an outlet for her. Seeing so many authentic men and women telling stories most shows are too afraid to tell was invigorating and sparked something within her. It stopped being a run of the mill cooking program the moment Emma was given creative control. 

 

“Well, the next family is really cool. I’m excited about it, actually. The Barnes family. Their youngest, Dania, was hit by a drunk driver when she was fifteen and was left paralyzed from the neck down. She was really depressed and suffering from the psychological and emotional toll of it all, but one neighbor kept coming over, every day like clock work, bringing food and the local gossip from town. Cooking saved her spirit and now she’s co-writing a cookbook with that neighbor. Her parents will be cooking her recipes while she bosses them around the kitchen.”

 

Emma’s voice is animated and her smile is wide and Regina can’t help but her swept up in this story already. She can imagine how beautifully Emma will direct the episode, how charming and humorous and inspiring it’ll be, especially for those that identify with Dania’s story.

 

“Layla—you know, the chef from a few episodes ago that had a riding accident?” At Regina’s nod, Emma continues, “Well, she told me all about this girl she knew from a support group and when I called, Dania was over the moon about the idea of being famous.”

 

“I like her already.” Regina chuckles huskily. Emma’s hand has shimmied down from her ribs to cup her pliable ass cheek and the contact is arousing her much more than it should. 

 

Emma sighs, wishing she could just not talk about Snow at this moment but she knows her friend is suspicious. While Snow most likely has no clue what their true relationship is, she thinks something is off, that much is clear, and Snow is too nosy to let it go. “So... Snow seems to think something’s up between you and I.”

 

Regina jolts at that, her eyes wide and fearful. “She—“

 

“She doesn’t know anything!” Emma’s quick to soothe her worries. “But I think I defended you too passionately cause she was grilling me. So I think we should be a little careful around her for the rest of the trip, like I’ll cool it and you keep throwing those barbs—but maybe with a tiny bit less sharp edges, huh?”

 

“Or I could simply ignore you altogether when they’re present. I... would feel too guilty repeating yesterday’s performance.”

 

Emma nods under Regina’s watchful gaze. Though her exterior is tough, Emma’s extremely sensitive to critique and gets anxious around confrontation of any kind. She manages to keep the anxiety completely internal, but it simmers inside her until she’s running as far from the situation as she can get. A runner... that’s what the system labeled her. 

 

But she’s not running from this, from Regina, and she, oddly enough, has no desire to even though the situation would warrant it. Regina is married to her tyrannical boss who’s already wanting to oust her from the cushy job she’s completely unqualified for. It’s like she’s dangling from the edge of cliff with only a single thread holding her up and there’s several sharp objects just looming, waiting to send her plummeting. Yet... here she is, cuddled with Regina in the bedroom she shares with Leopold, with Snow just down the hall, and all she can worry about is not being able to see Regina every day.

 

Before she can respond to Regina’s idea, a hefty yawn forces its way to Emma’s mouth and leaves her eyes watery. Regina chuckles against the side of her neck. “Go to sleep, Miss Swan. We’ll steal a moment together tomorrow somehow.” 

 

They part ways after several gentle kisses that never escalate due to their exhaustion and slight worry that Leo could barge in at any moment. 

 

But Emma keeps her eyes open long enough as she lies in bed to slip her fingers under the waistband of her panties to rub harshly on her still throbbing clit until her back arches off the mattress and she comes with a near silent moan. Images of tan, slick thighs and a parted plump mouth is enough to bring a second wave. 

 

Then she slips into a sleep filled with dreams where it’s Regina’s fingers coated in her come and not her own. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for domestic violence and threat of sexual assault. You’ll know when it’s coming, but it’s toward the end. So if you may be triggered, when you sense the tension, skip to the end.

_ To: David Nolan _

_ From: Snow White _

_ Subject: The nightmare before Christmas! _

 

_ Emma and I argued before you called. She was defending my stepmother. My stepmother! Can you believe it? Even after Regina was so frigid all day! Sometimes I cave and feel guilty and bad for Regina but then I really think about what she’s put me though and I get so rattled. It’s like Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. It’s just... I brought Emma here to show her my home and spend time with her, but we’ve been separated or fighting almost the entire visit. What a Christmas so far. The only good thing was meeting you at the ball. I still can’t believe it you’ve been right under my nose this whole time. I’m looking forward to seeing you in a few days, David.  _

 

* * *

 

While Emma was obviously aware she’d be stuck with Snow and Leo the next day, as per Regina’s  _ brilliant _ idea to stay away from one another, she can honestly say she didn’t expect this level of boredom. 

 

Leopold begrudgingly invited Emma to tag along on their golf excursion and Emma felt it would suspicious to turn it down and stay with Regina again, especially after Snow’s third degree the night before, so she readily agreed, ignoring Regina’s amused smirk half concealed by the morning paper. 

 

That amused smirk grew tenfold when Emma stomped down the stairs in tight khakis pants, a neon pink polo shirt, mismatched polka dot socks, and a pair of black sketchers sneakers that stuck out like a cheap sore thumb when surrounded by the expensive threads Snow leant her. She looked ridiculous, but it put Leo in a good mood so at least she didn’t have to hear him bitch about her attire the whole way to the course.

 

Emma basically drove the cart, happily if she’s honest. She tried swinging a club on the first hole and smacked a large chunk of grass and dirt into the air and across the hood of their cart. Snow grimaced, patting her shoulder with a sympathetic smile, and told her it’d be just fine if she would prefer to skip out in playing. So she drove the father-daughter duo through eighteen holes, listening to their chatter the whole time and somehow managing to resist the urge to throw herself out of the moving vehicle. 

 

After five holes, the chilly weather had Leo calling it a day and Snow gloating over her slight victory. Leo took them to the restaurant in the clubhouse, which was swanky and so not Emma’s style. Hell, she couldn’t even read half the menu and surely didn’t know what any of it was. At least the Mexican restaurants in New York have translations under each menu item. 

 

“Father, I heard all about Midas!” Snow chips in randomly and Emma barely pays her any mind, too focused on attempting to figure out what soup du jour is and why anyone would want to eat a calves liver.

 

Leo huffs a derisive laugh. “I always warned Rey he was too fast and loose with his financials. It was only a matter of time.”

 

Snow turns to Emma with a frown and explains as if Emma actually asked or cares, “Rey Midas is the CEO of Midas Entertainment and a long-time friend of the family. His home and office were raided by the FBI last month! I feel terrible for him!”

 

“Poor guy!” Emma inhales sharply, her voice holding just enough sarcasm to be noticeable to Leo, who narrows his gaze at her from over the menu. 

 

Snow doesn’t notice, of course, and sighs with a shake of her head. “I spoke to Abigail this morning and she’s devastated.”

 

“Well, Midas is quite a scrappy man, so I’m sure he’ll survive this just fine.” Leo mutters. He seems unsure or even touchy about the subject, and Emma can’t help but wonder why. Just because one rich guy got targeted doesn’t mean there’s a witch hunt for all executives, even if Emma suspects most have a shit ton of skeletons in their closets and are deserving of public and lawful scrutiny. 

 

The waiter passes by to take their orders, which becomes an awkward affair when Emma confidently asks for a bacon cheeseburger that isn’t on the menu and the waiter sputters for a few seconds before Snow sweetly turns to him with a smile and basically coerces him into having the burger special ordered. Leopold isn’t impressed and makes a sly comment under his breath that Emma swears is punctuated by his infamous nickname for her. At this point, getting Leo to call her a street rat feels like victory because it means she got a rise out him, which is her new favorite hobby.

 

A tense silence befalls the table until Snow clears her throat and flashes them a forced grin. “I’m so glad I get to spend time with my two favorite people. Thank you both for putting aside past contention to make this Christmas so special.”

 

Snow reaches out to squeeze their hands and Emma can feel how clammy that palm is, like Snow knows this interaction is seconds away from disaster. 

 

“Uh, yeah, thanks for having me... and big thanks to your wife for her hospitality.” Emma gestures to Leo as she tacks that last bit on and suppresses a smirk at twin flinches on father and daughter. Because god forbid anyone actually treat Regina like she’s worth a damn. 

 

“Anything for my daughter.” Leo responds through slightly gritted teeth. It’s obviously they’re feigning civility but it’s enough for Snow, who squeezes their hands one last time before pulling away to smooth her cloth napkin across her lap.

 

The rest of the lunch is quiet, with mostly Snow chattering about this and that while Emma and Leo give answering hums when appropriate and scarf down their food as quick as possible in hopes of expediting this torturous morning and early afternoon. When they’re being driven home in their town car, because that’s how rich the Whites are, Leo explains that he’ll be out of the house until tomorrow evening for business. Snow pouts but doesn’t ask where he’s going or what he’ll be doing.  _ He must’ve trained her well _ , Emma thinks.

 

When they get to the mansion, Snow decides to spend the afternoon with her father since he’ll be absent for at least twenty four hours. Emma just smiles at her and encourages the father-daughter bonding in hopes of getting a few hours with the only person in the house that she actually wants to spend time with. 

 

Despite the chill in the air, the two change into their sporting clothes and grab their rackets and head out to the tennis court on the far side of the property, leaving Emma in the house to search for Regina. She finds her in the upstairs den watching a rerun of  _ On The Dinner Table _ .

 

She smiles as she hears Layla’s voice filter softly through the room as she expertly chops onions and peppers. 

 

“She’s still my personal favorite.” Emma says quietly enough not to startle Regina, who returns her smile fully once she realizes Emma is in fact alone. Emma plops down on the cushy couch and scrunches her nose as she jokes, “Don’t tell Mulan though.”

 

“Hmm, Mulan is still one of my favorites, but I do love Layla and Daphne.”

 

“Daphne was tough to film, you know? Her story was so heartbreaking... but I guess that’s what made her so special.” Emma sighs as she recalls spending hours going over film of the middle aged black woman from the heart of Baltimore. 

 

Daphne was a single mom whose unarmed twelve year old son was gunned down by police officers. She used her voice to fight against police brutality in her city and used her hands to make delicious meals for the local homeless shelter. She was a revered member of her community, a strong, passionate activist with a will to change things. Her sadness and her conviction were palpable and her genuine heartbreak made for an authentic piece of television. It showed what actually happens to some American families, that it’s not so cookie-cutter with white picket fences. Sometimes being an American meant living in a society that’s terrifying and unjust. It was depressing but it was real, and it drained Emma every single day of filming but she was proud to be the mastermind behind it. 

 

Regina’s sweet voice breaks her from her thoughts, “I know I’ve said it before, Emma, but what you’re doing is important.”

 

“I hope it helps someone out there...” Emma sighs then turns toward her lover, only to be stunned by the vulnerability she finds in those brown eyes.

 

“You already have.” She says eventually, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper. “At times, I watch these men and women and hear their stories and feel like my problems are so small—“

 

“But that’s not the takeaway.” Emma interrupts. She reaches over to cup Regina’s jaw. “The takeaway is that no matter how different we are, we all feel pain and we all suffer, and we all can connect through stories and food and our history. The takeaway is that no one's pain can trump another’s and that suffering is relative to the individual. Daphne lost her son, Layla lost the joy she found in riding horses, Amir lost his vision, but we can’t rank their pain and loss. You lost a lot too, so have I, but we shouldn’t have guilt because we perceive someone else as having it worse off, because that doesn’t negate the hurt we feel.”

 

Regina blinks back tears at the impassioned speech but a well of gratitude builds in her chest as the truth of it sinks in. She shakes off the emotion and huskily jokes, “You should list hope speeches on your resume, right under skills.” 

 

Emma scoffs playfully, “Yeah, sprucing up my resume might actually be a good idea since Leo’s itching to get rid of me.”

 

“He won’t.”

 

“Regina—“

 

“He won’t, Emma.” Regina quirks her brow. “Leopold is many things but he loves money and you make his company money, and no one can achieve what you have with this show. Clips have gone viral, the ratings skyrocketed, it trends on several social media platforms every week, and you’ve garnered the elusive young viewership. He needs you, no matter how much he detests that he does.”

 

Emma grins. “Damn, Mills. Where’d you learn all that TV lingo?”

 

Regina suddenly blushes and it’s the cutest thing Emma’s ever seen. “I eavesdrop on his phone calls when I’m bored, even did some of his paperwork and answered emails when he was too lazy to do them himself, and I suppose I’ve caught on to some of it. Honestly, the job seems quite interesting.”

 

“Oh my god, you’d be an amazing executive!” Emma chuckles as she teasingly pokes Regina’s stomach. “It’d be so hot to have you as my boss.”

 

Regina bites her lip as she’s suddenly bombarded by images of Emma bending her over the edge of desk, taking her roughly from behind with a hand fisted in her hair, and she has to squeeze her thighs together. Her body is far too eager for a repeat of last afternoon.

 

Before she gets too distracted by her spiraling thoughts, she changes the subject. “How was your morning with the disastrous duo?”

 

“Disastrous.” Emma deadpans. “I was crawling out of my skin. I don’t know how you dealt with it daily.”

 

“With as much patience as I could muster and prime evading skill.” Regina’s tone is full of amusement but Emma’s inner lie detector doesn’t ping. It’s the truth.  

 

The conversation fades on that note so they turn back toward the television to see the opening sequence of another rerun, this time it’s Mulan’s episode. Emma really does love how natural her friend is in front of the camera. She was relatable, didn’t miss a beat, and was extremely likable, and if it weren’t for her, Emma’s not sure where she’d be right now. Maybe planning another dull segment about two lawyers from the swankiest part of Manhattan. 

 

She’s definitely buying Mulan and Aurora the nicest wedding gift she can afford. 

 

Almost like she read her mind, Regina asks, “How’s wedding planning going?”

 

With a snort, Emma responds, “Mulan is such a nervous wreck about this whole thing and wants everything to be perfect, which, from Mulan’s perspective, means she has to do it all herself. She won’t let me help, she won’t take advice from any friends, and Aurora has officially stepped back and given the reins over. It’s insanity!” 

 

“You should be happy!” Regina teases, “Less work for you!”

 

Emma grins. “Please, I’d rather pick out some flowers than get woken up at three in the morning because Mulan is hyperventilating over a seating chart.”

 

Regina bites her lip, thoroughly amused by the adventures occurring in New York. “Speaking of the bride to be... did you ever ask her about the tuxedo idea?”

 

“Surprisingly enough, she agreed to it without a fuss!” Emma laughs at Regina’s shocked countenance and nods. “I know, I was just as taken aback, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’ll getting fitted next weekend, then final adjustments will be made two weeks before the wedding.”

 

“When is the big day again?”

 

“May 4th... because Mulan is a fucking nerd.” Emma snorts, this time completely amused. When her friend told her she’d be getting married on that day, she laughed right in the Asian woman’s face but, luckily for Mulan, Aurora was entirely enamored with her fiancées obsession with Star Wars. 

 

“Don’t tell me it’s theme is—“

 

“Star Wars.” Emma bites her lip as Regina blinks owlishly. “I know.”

 

“A Star Wars themed wedding...”

 

“I know. But that’s her definition of perfect, Aurora’s cool with it for some reason, and I’m sure it’s going to be a lot of fun.” 

 

Deep down, Emma’s a bit excited about the idea. From what she’s seen while peeking through Mulan’s wedding planning journal (yes, she has a journal she dedicated to it and she does indeed carry it everywhere she goes), the wedding and reception are going to be unique and special and a boatload of fun. It’ll definitely be a day to remember, that’s for sure. 

 

“I’d do a Halloween wedding.” Regina confesses absently, her eyes still glued to Mulan and Aurora on screen. 

 

“ _ Halloween? _ ” For some reason, the thought of Regina enjoying a holiday like Halloween never crossed her mind. She’s thought about Christmas because of the atmosphere and the gifts and she’s thought about April Fools because Regina is kind of an asshole in an adorable way, but she never considered Halloween, mostly because she expected Regina to find it frivolous.

 

Regina finally turns toward her again, this time looking a bit uneasy, like she’s worried she’s about to be judged. It’s a look she’s seen on her too many times to count, which is sad considering she’s only been able to actually see her for a few days. 

 

“When I younger, I never had the chance to partake. My mother told me I couldn’t afford to lose my figure and therefore a sugar binge would not be tolerated. But she became someone else on Thanksgiving and Christmas, almost as if the spirit of the holiday alone made her see how fortunate she was to have a family, to have us. So this time of the year was my favorite during my childhood.” Regina frowns, her fingers twisting together in a nervous tick, as she continues, “but then I got married to Leo and... Christmas and Thanksgiving became the holidays where it most difficult to hide from them. My presence was expected, my ability in the kitchen was expected, I was expected to be a stepford wife when I was still a teenager, and I began to loathe the holidays that once brought me hope.”

 

The mansion is so silent as Regina speaks that it’s almost like the brunette has captured the attention of everything around them. The melancholy she hears bouncing off the walls, the floors, the now paused television is enough to make her chest tighten. 

 

“But Halloween,” Regina laughs, wet and slightly bitter in a way, “was the only holiday where they would leave and I was able to be alone and just _breathe_. Leo would dress Snow up and take her around the neighborhood for hours upon hours and I stayed here, relaxing on this very couch in warm pajamas with pumpkin spiced desserts, watching the classics of the holiday on the television, and munching on too much candy corn just to spite my mother. Halloween became synonymous with safety and peace, as strange as that may sound since some label it the _devil's_ holiday.”

 

Regina purses her lips as she inquires, “Does that sound strange?”

 

Emma releases an lively laugh. “I think I’m the wrong person to ask. Halloween is my favorite too, always has been. It was the one time of year where I didn’t think about my lack of family, lack of gifts or things to be grateful for. I would cut holes into a sheet I stole from retail stores and parade around as a ghost to get free candy. I was able to blend in with the other kids for once and I had some food, even if it wasn’t exactly five star nutrition.  It was the one time of year I could be someone else, be  _ something _ else.”

 

The corners of Regina’s mouth are curling up and her eyes are alit with something that looks remarkably similar to hope as she whispers, “So a Halloween themed wedding?”

 

Emma can practically feel the underlying question— _ do you see our future the way I do? _ —and shivers. Not because she’s afraid or because the promise connected to the answer is heavy and loaded, but because for the first time in her life, she knows the answer and feels not even an ounce of hesitation. For the first time in her life, she feels like she belongs, like her future isn’t so bleak and terrifying, even though it  _ should _ seem so. She has strong feelings for the wife of her boss—a lying, cheating, bigoted bastard that has the power to ruin them both—and there isn’t a spec of fear rolling through her mind. 

 

So when she finally delivers the answer, it’s with pure  _ love _ for the woman in front of her. “As long as you’re there with me, the rest doesn’t matter much.”

 

Regina releases a shaky exhale but her lips stretch and stretch until her teeth are flashing in a smile that’s so iridescent Emma can’t look away. Then their hands are curling around each other as Regina pulls Emma to her. Their lips meet tenderly and it’s a quiet, calm embrace until Regina suddenly jerks upward to straddle Emma’s thighs. Their kiss turns hungry, Regina’s hips are thrusting against Emma’s lower abdomen, and the room is now absorbing their soft exhales, moans, and groans. 

 

They’re basically making out like two teenagers whose parents are in the backyard and could catch them at any moment. 

 

“I want to touch you.” Regina whispers into her mouth as her inexperienced hands rub against Emma’s collarbones eagerly. “Tell me what to do, Emma.”

 

She takes the hand currently gripping her shoulder and directs it down her side until Regina’s long fingers slip past the waistband of her ugly beige golf pants and plain panties to graze the side of Emma’s engorged clit. Regina gasps at the abundance of wetness she finds but Emma can’t even be embarrassed about it, not when she’s been on edge since watching Regina come the other night.

 

“Just do to me whatever you do to yourself. I’ll tell you if I need anything different.” Emma stutters quietly as Regina’s pointer and middle finger start circling around her clit. 

 

Regina thinks back to the moment she brought herself to orgasm watching the explicit video and tries to emulate those movements. Slow, wide circles that gradually become quick and zeroed in. It doesn’t take long at all. A minute of her ministrations have Emma silently gasping as her hips gyrate into Regina’s hand before her back snaps taut and long moan escapes, her body shaking slightly as Regina’s fingers continue to rub, albeit much more slowly just to draw it out. 

 

“Was that alright?” Regina asks, tentative and shy, once Emma’s breathing returns to normal and Emma can’t help but chuckle weakly.

 

“I think alright would be an understatement.” 

 

Regina smiles smugly at that and now Emma’s answering chuckle is anything but weak. Despite her lack of experience and subsequent nerves, Regina finds she quite enjoys being the cause of Emma’s pleasure. Now she understands why her peers in school were so enraptured by this, so obsessed with the euphoria that followed these acts, especially when it’s done with someone you care for and that cares for you. 

 

“It’s like Mulan just watched me come.” Emma snarks as she looks over Regina’s shoulder. The brunette peers over her in the direction of Emma’s gaze and snorts at the frozen screen where Mulan is staring straight at the camera with a slight smirk. It’s almost like she’s looking on with approval. 

 

Before Regina can even verbalize the sass on the tip of her tongue, the sound of a door opening downstairs floats its way to them and has Regina scrambling off Emma’s lap to smooth out her dark jeans and silk blouse. She goes to brush her fingers through her hair when she realizes those fingers are still covered in Emma’s arousal and, without thought, sucks the two of them between her lips to lick off the stickiness. She ignores Emma’s tortured groan and slips her fingers out of her mouth to wipe her saliva off on her pants then comb them through her short hair. 

 

“Tell me you did not just do that when I have no time to jump your bones...” Emma whispers grumpily from the couch, still looking way too disheveled.

 

Snow’s high pitched voice moving from room to room downstairs is what finally drags Emma off the couch. 

 

The two lovers part ways with a gentle kiss, quietly promising to see one another later.

 

* * *

 

Regina isn’t able to sneak into Emma’s room that night. Even though Leopold leaves for his business trip, which is most likely just a small getaway with his young mistress, Snow is glued to her side until the late hours. Her stepdaughter is talkative and obviously trying to force a connection between them. She even offers to help Regina cook the Christmas dinner that’s scheduled for two nights later. Regina halfheartedly accepts her offer, not because she wants to spend those hours with Snow but because the meal is complicated and she might need an extra pair of hands. There’s the added bonus that if Snow is helping her cook, Emma will have an excuse to sit in the kitchen with them. Regina hates to admit it but the hopeful gleam in Snow’s eyes when she accepts doesn’t repulse her.

 

It’s past midnight when the younger brunette decides to head to bed and Regina can barely keep her eyes open, but she does peek her head into Emma’s room to kiss her lover goodnight and explain her absence. Once Emma sees how exhausted Regina looks, she practically forces her out the door toward her bedroom, knowing Regina usually has trouble sleeping through the night and hoping she’ll be well rested if she takes advantage of her sleepiness. 

 

“Snow wants to give me a tour of the town in the morning but we’ll probably hang out here after, so hopefully I get to see you.” Emma explains as she leans against the door jamb of the guest room. She leans forward to give her lover a small peck. “Go sleep. Have pleasant dreams, Reggie.”

 

Regina tiredly grumbles a “Don’t call me that” under her breath as she turns away and heads down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Regina finds the mansion empty when she wakes at a much later time than she’s accustomed to. It leaves her groggy and slightly grumpy but a hot shower and a few well placed fingers as the water coats her back relieve just enough tension to leave her feeling alert. She throws on a simple black skirt, which is par for the course with her, and a plain black t-shirt she stole from Emma’s suitcase that fits her body like a glove. Once she slips into her red-soled high heels, she makes her way downstairs and into the kitchen. 

 

Without knowing exactly when Emma and Snow will return from town, Regina makes a single stack of pancakes, throws two slices of bacon onto the griddle until they’re slightly crisp, then sits at the kitchen island to enjoy the peace and quiet as she munches on her breakfast. She foregoes any maple syrup, not wanting to ingest too much sugar so early in the morning, and takes her coffee black. She knows it’s her mother's voice in her head scolding her about glucose intake but it’s a lesson ingrained in her now. 

 

Just as she nibbles on the corner of her second piece of bacon, her cell phone starts vibrating against the kitchen counter. She wipes her greasy fingers against the balled up napkin next to her plate then reaches for the device.

 

“ _ Speak of the devil _ ...” Regina sighs as she accepts the call. The phone slips between her ear and her should so she can grab her fork and cut a piece of pancake with the edge of her fork. She absently greets the caller, “Hello, mother.”

 

Cora sighs, disappointed in her daughters’ lack of manners, “Don’t sound too  _ enthused _ to hear from me, dear.”

 

“Is daddy alright?” Regina asks. It’s the only thing she cares to hear from her mother and even that information is scarce more often than not since Cora has a tendency of abandoning her husband at hospitals or at their manor to fend for himself. 

 

“Your father is fine.” Cora dismisses her concern with barely concealed agitation. “I spoke to Leopold this morning and he sounded tense. Are you taking care of him?”

 

A shudder of disgust racks her body, knowing what her mother is actually asking. Before she got married, Cora tried to mold her into a doting housewife, which included constant reminders that men had physical needs that had to be satisfied in order to keep them happy. It made her father extremely uncomfortable at the time, especially considering Regina was only seventeen and still a virgin and Leo was close to him in age. In the end, those lessons were wasted. Leopold never wanted to be seduced or try anything romantic or special. He just forced her down onto the mattress and took what he wanted. The only pointer Regina would’ve needed was a way to keep from hyperventilating under his weight. 

 

“—It’s important to keep him satisfied, Regina. Your father is on deaths door and I certainly don’t have the money to even get his cold corpse tossed into a pine box, let alone all the other extravagance I’m sure you’re expecting.”

 

Regina can’t help but flinch at the acid dripping from her tone. She knows her mother is a money-hungry, cold-hearted snake but she always held out hope that somewhere deep down she truly cared for her and for Henry. Those warm experiences during the holidays once gave Regina hope but moments like these were always enough to counteract those memories. 

 

“Daddy wants to be cremated, mother.” Regina reminds her none-too-gently. “And Leopold is fine. He’s just a miserable bastard at all hours.”

 

The other line goes deathly quiet for a few beats until, “You, my dear, are quite an ungrateful brat.”

 

Regina pulls the phone from her ear as a derisive snort passes through her lips. She can hear her mother's voice adding more insult to injury and, deciding she doesn’t have the patience today, aggressively clicks to end the call. She can only imagine the indignant scoffs and huffs that got her once Cora realized she hung up. 

 

Oddly enough, she finds she couldn’t care less anymore. She didn’t marry Leo for her mothers approval. She signed up for this for her fathers sake, for his health and longevity, and she will continue to deal with its repercussions for as long as she can. Or at least until it’s no longer necessary, which doesn’t seem too far off.

 

Henry’s health has declined even more since returning home from Washington. The cancer was spreading, causing kidney failure and putting him in immense pain, and Regina just knew he was nearing his end. 

 

Her grip on her fork tightens until her knuckles are white, then she drops it suddenly and ignores the loud clank in favor of rushing to get her coat and her keys.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the matter,  _ mija _ ?”

 

Regina sits on the edge of the newly acquired hospital bed that had been placed in her childhood bedroom. Henry is stiff as a board against the thin foam mattress, his features gaunt and sucked in, his skin pale enough to draw concern. He’s breathing heavy, like each syllable is a marathon. It’s such a stark contrast to the last time she visited. 

 

“Daddy, how are you feeling?” Regina asks even though she can clearly see the answer all over the jutting bones of his elbows and knees and the slight yellow tinting of his skin. 

 

He sucks in a shaky breath as his eyes close. “Almost over.”

 

Regina’s throat seizes on a harsh swallow and she blinks back the overwhelming burning sensation behind her eyes. “Don’t talk like that... you never know—“

 

“You’re almost free, _mija_.” He says. He pauses to cough and raises a hand to stop Regina from fetching him his tall glass of water from the side table. “When I go, I need to know you’ll be happy.”

 

“Making sure you’re taken care of makes me happy.” Regina lies and Henry immediately clicks his tongue.

 

“I know that isn’t true and I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for your happiness.” Henry swallows noticeably then bites his lip. “I was so afraid of dying, of leaving you behind, that it made me act selfishly.”

 

“Daddy—“

 

“Let me die knowing you’ll fight for your happiness, for what you deserve, and that you won’t allow your mother to define what that is.” Henry grabs her hand and squeezes so tightly, and Regina has to swallow the sob crawling up her throat. She wipes at the corners of her eyes but doesn’t look away from her father, who’s staring at her with so much ferocity. “Don’t let anyone stand in your way. Don’t let anyone walk all over you. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. You decide your fate, you hear me? No one else.”

 

Regina shakes her head as a wave of sadness rolls over her. “Why are you saying this? Is there something going on?”

 

The statement makes Henry smile softly at his daughter. “I’m saying this because I may not have another chance.”

 

His tone is suddenly weak and lacks all of the fire it held not even a few moments ago, and it feels like sign somehow. Each word seems to take too much energy now that he’s said what he needed to.

 

“Tell me about her,  _ mija _ .” Henry whispers, strained and low, and Regina has to lean in to catch it.

 

“About who?”

 

“Your  _ friend _ .” He manages to quirk his brow sarcastically. 

 

Regina blushes, which makes him happy, it seems. His smile softens even more. “Emma... she’s visiting for Christmas with Snow.”

 

“And?” He asks with a distinct lack of patience. 

 

“And... she’s like coming up for air.” Regina exhales heavily and smiles through her tears. “It’s like I was drowning and she saved me.”

 

Henry squeezes her hand again but it’s his wet, soulful eyes that tell all. His biggest fear was leaving his child in the hands of Cora and Leopold White, to leave her locked in cage with no allies or help, but now there’s this Emma. There’s this woman that’s making his daughter smile in a way he’s never seen. There’s this woman that sees how special Regina is, that will cherish that uniqueness and protect her from whatever is to come. He’s never met the woman but this Emma is bringing him more peace than anything else. 

 

“Good... I like her already.” Henry shuts his eyes now in an effort to keep up his strength and energy. Regina hardly comes by anymore and he wants to soak up as much time as he can. “Maybe you could bring her by before she leaves—“

 

“I don’t think so.” Regina croaks nervously. Henry’s eyes snap open to stare at her curiously and she clears her throat. “Snow and Leo aren’t aware that she and I are...  _ friends _ .”

 

Henry’s eyes snap back shut as he shrugs nonchalantly. “And? Sneak her away.”

 

Regina’s amusement is palpable, though most of it stems from relief over the fact that Henry approves of her sexuality and relationship with Emma. Truthfully, she would like nothing more than for Emma to meet her father but it may be too risky. Perhaps she could mention it to her blonde lover and see what she thinks. 

 

Instead of continuing the conversation, Regina pivots to ask the question that’s been niggling at the back of her mind since she walked into the home and there was no verbal attack thrown at her. “Where is she?”

 

Henry sighs, “Who knows. She’s hardly here... comes only to sleep now. I spend more quality time with my day nurse. Not that I’m complaining.” 

 

“Perhaps it’s better this way?”

 

“Yes... Cora and I... our marriage was one of convenience,  _ mija _ . She and I don’t mix well. Oil and water.” 

 

Henry and Cora were matched by their parents, who thought their meager wealth could be combined to create something grander but Henry’s lack of business savvy and Cora’s greed obliterated any chances they had to accrue the wealth their parents had hoped for. 

 

For most of her life, Cora worked at a factory in town, forging steel to ship to companies around the country. Henry had a fairly stable job as a paralegal at the local law firm until he retired. Eventually, Cora grew sick of the hard labor and ran for mayor. Despite every polls conducted by The Daily Mirror or nation-wide newspapers, Cora won the election by a narrow margin. Cora and Henry went on to live comfortably in the manor given to them by the town per Cora’s position. And they stayed out of each others’ business most of the time, because they truly did not mix. Henry was quiet, polite, and straightforward. Cora was manipulative, two-faced, and spoke even when not spoken to.

 

None of this is a surprise to Regina. She was raised in a home with parents that preferred to sleep in different bedrooms and a mother that was never quiet about her affairs. Regina was only ten when she walked in on her mother atop Robert Gold, a wealthy man that owned over half of Storybrooke’s real estate, and was threatened by her mother to keep her mouth shut. As if Henry wasn’t already aware. As if Henry’s eyes didn’t linger on their maid’s backside as she cleaned the furniture near his television set. As if said maid, a girl only fifteen years Regina’s senior, wouldn’t sneak out of her father's bedroom when she thought everyone was asleep. 

 

It ruined her perception of marriage and love. Regina can tell Henry is oblivious to that, it’s clear in the embarrassed purse of his lips now as he confesses, and she won’t damage that belief when he’s almost gone. 

 

“Mmm, yes, Mother can be quite difficult to stomach.” She says instead. She can’t bring herself to look at him, even though his eyes are still shut. 

 

Henry doesn’t say anything after that and his breathing evens out so Regina decides to cut her visit short to let him rest. She tucks his quilted blanket around his torso and kisses his clammy forehead before notifying his day nurse of her departure and taking her leave. 

 

She gets into the Mercedes Leopold bought her all those years ago and parks around the corner from the manor just in case Cora returns. It only takes a few tense moments before her eyes start to burn and her chest heaves against the emotion roaring through her body. Her head lands against the steering wheel as tears stream down her cheeks and plop onto her tight skirt and the beige carpet beneath her black heels. Her fingers are squeezing the gear shift with enough pressure to make the material creak. 

 

The sobs come in waves and go on for what feels like hours, and Regina realizes that this has been building for  _ years _ . She’s dealt with a sickly father, an abusive husband that takes advantage of her emotionally and sexually, a stepdaughter whose naivety has brought her so much grief, and a mother that cares little about her wellbeing and would sell her to the devil himself if she felt she could gain from it, and she’s hardly cried. She’s hardly had time to mourn her father, to mourn her innocence, to just be angry and upset, to express all of the feelings that were pushed so far down Regina began to wonder if they existed in the first place. 

 

Then suddenly a flash of blonde hair and emerald eyes pops into her mind and a smile grows on her lips, contradicting wet cheeks and a red nose. Her past was rubbish but her future could be full of love, true love, and a partnership that brings her happiness. 

 

Her future has Emma in it so the sentimental smile stays firm on her lips as she drives back toward it.

 

* * *

 

The last place Emma expected to end up during the tour of the town with her wealthy friend is the quaint diner on Main Street that’s owned by an older woman and her granddaughter, but she knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse has given her a bacon cheeseburger with a side of seasoned fries. 

 

Snow’s babbling about her time in high school while Emma only pays her a small fraction of attention. The morning was spent driving around downtown with Snow pointing at certain landmarks and buildings to insert lengthy anecdotes connected to them even though the heavy rain was obscuring the viewing. It had Emma ready to fling herself out of the moving vehicle but the promise of a greasy lunch kept her rooted to her seat.

 

The stories flow into lunch time though, but with enough cheese and bacon she can overlook it.

 

“—And you won’t believe what happened next!” Snow’s excited screech nabs her full attention as a piece of lettuce slides out from between her bun and patty to plop down on her plate lamely.

 

“Oh, uh, I bet I won’t.” Emma remarked blankly as she shrugs and bites into her burger sans lettuce.

 

“My father bought it!” Snow laughs cheekily as she spears an olive with her fork and gobbles it down.

 

“Wait,” Emma lowers her burger as she chews and quirks her brow, “Weren’t you talking about your favorite magazine going out of business?” Snow nods as she chews. “Your father  _ bought _ the failing magazine company because you loved it?”  

 

“Yes, as a birthday present! Weren’t you listening?” 

 

Emma scoffs, “I guess I’m just... baffled? Maybe kind of incredulous? I don’t know... that’s just  _ a lot _ .”

 

“I told you my father is a good man. You just have to get to know him.” Snow remarks with enough haughtiness to make Emma want to reach across the table and throttle her.

 

The insinuation that Leopold is a good and charitable man because he bought his spoiled daughter a _company_ for her birthday is fifty shades of entitled and laughable. And it’s aggravating because she knows better. Regina has told her about bruises on her wrists from when Leo was a bit too intoxicated and held her down roughly against the bed. Regina has told her about that one time he wrapped his meaty paw around her neck for a few seconds before realizing what he was doing would leave a noticeable mark and forbade her from leaving the mansion until the bruise was gone. Regina has told her about the yelling and the name-calling and the fear tactics. Regina has told her enough for Emma to know that Leopold White was not a good man. Perhaps a good father, but nothing more. 

 

She can’t say that, of course, so she just stares back at Snow with barely disguised rage and simmers as Snow prattles on and on about this and that as they finish their lunch and slide back into the car.

 

Her anger stays prevalent as they start cruising down the main street toward Snow’s home. She’s almost got it in check when Snow blows any semblance of control to smithereens with her ignorance.

 

“So, I’m helping with Christmas dinner tomorrow night.” Snow says, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “I asked Regina and she actually accepted my help. I think it might be her way of apologizing for the cold shoulder she’s given me.”

 

And, well, her rage can only be contained so much. 

 

“Or  _ maybe _ she just needs help cooking a four course dinner since daddy dearest makes her do everything. Especially since she has nothing to apologize to you for.”

 

“Emma!” Her indignant squawk is punctuated by a suddenly jolt of the car when Snow’s foot aggressively stomps on the brake and Emma throws out her palm to keep her body from smashing into the dash. 

 

Emma fists her hand against the dashboard as she stares her friend down pointedly. “I don’t get you, Snow. You tell me you want to make amends and you realize the part you played in all of this, and then you go say shit like that? You flop back and forth more than a damn fish out of water! Make a choice and stick to it!”

 

“It’s not so black and white, Emma! Stop acting like you have any clue as to what I’ve been through with her or what my father has been through! You know nothing!” 

 

“I know enough!” Emma growls so loudly that it’s burns her throat. “I know your father is a scumbag to literally everyone but you, and you don’t give a damn because as long as it doesn’t affect you, right? You’re almost as bad as he is, if not just as bad. You’re the reason Leo married Regina, you never spoke up for her, you never denounce his hatred and bigotry, you praise him for buying you a fucking company! You looked down on me for so long because of Neal, because of my jail time, because of my baby, and you stopped talking to me after because I was an embarrassment to you, and when you finally realized you were a shit friend, you handed me a job on a platter in lieu of an apology because you never take accountability and you never change! Get a clue and grow as a human being!” 

 

Emma pants as the words ring through the car, penetrating despite the pitter-patter of the raindrops smacking against the exterior. Someone is beeping at them but Snow makes no moves. She’s frozen, staring at the blonde in the passenger seat in shock. Then her face transforms into something dark, something furious.

 

“Get. Out.” Snow hisses. The acidic words are nearly overpowered by the frantic beeping of other vehicles. “Get out! Get out!” Snow screams it this time, her face red and her hands pounding on the steering wheel, and it’s the first time Emma’s ever been intimidated by her usually soft spoken peer, and it has her jumping out of the car and into a the rain without a backward glance. 

 

* * *

 

Regina’s lips automatically pull into a smile when she hears the front door swing open. She’s pilfering through the cabinets in the kitchen, taking stock of all the ingredients for tonight’s dinner and the Christmas feast tomorrow night and jotting down anything that’s missing.

 

Just as she finishes writing down the last ingredient needed for the honey glazed ham recipe she stole from an episode of her favorite cooking show, a voice comes from the doorway. 

 

“I don’t know how you did it.” Regina startles and whirls around to see Snow standing a few feet away with her arms crossed and her face blotchy and red. She looks frustrated, close to tears, and agitated in a way Regina has never seen before. It’s enough to stunt the usual irritated gut reaction to her step daughter’s presence.

 

“Snow... are you alright? Where’s Em—your friend?”

 

Snow blinks at her, almost like she’s not really listening or seeing her, but then she snaps her gaze to the floor and chuckles darkly.

 

“You’ve been skulking around this mansion for damn near a decade now and I’ve dealt with the cold shoulder, the mean words, the anger, but I refuse to let you ruin my friendship with her!”

 

Regina feels her heart stutter in her chest. “I have no idea what you’re—“

 

“I know what’s going on between you two.” Snow growls lowly and Regina’s knees buckle. Her hand shoots out to balance her against the countertop. Snow notices, because it only makes sense that her first perceptive moment occurs now, and her pale face blanches even more.

 

“I never meant for this to happen.” Regina murmurs nervously, her hands shaking against the marble island. “You know how she is... she has a way of worming into your heart. She’s... Snow...”

 

“Oh my god.” Snow whispers under her breath as her hands fly up to cover her mouth. And Regina’s heart drops. She opens her mouth, ready to pretend it was a joke at Snow’s expense, but her step daughter is already ranting. “Oh my god, I just thought you made up stories to.... Oh my god, Regina, are you—“

 

“That’s none of your business.” Regina grits her teeth, giving up any illusion that her words were anything but true. “I haven’t fabricated anything, dear. She’s judging you based off the truth, which should sting even more, don’t you think?”

 

It’s a stupid tactic, Regina knows that. Being so acerbic toward the girl that probably holds her life in her hands. She’s given too much away and there’s no way to take it back. She’s utterly vulnerable and she has to fight the urge to lash out even more harshly.

 

“It is my business!” Snow shouts, her arms uncrossing and her hands gesticulating wildly. “You’re cheating on my father! You’re—my god—You’re screwing my friend!” 

 

“I am not—“ She stops herself, thinking about Emma’s fingers and tongue and pale thighs and grunts and moans, and she will not deny that. “Your father has had a mistress for  _ years  _ but you have the goddamn nerve to vilify  _ me _ ?!”

 

“He is not! He works hard!” Snow denies, denies, denies until she’s blue in the face. She always has. Even when she caught her father sneaking into the mansion with his clothes askew. Even when she saw the brown—a color Regina doesn’t wear—lipstick stain on his collar. Even when she caught him speaking naughtily on the phone to someone in his office. She always repressed it and it always left Regina to fight off the feelings of inadequacy on her own. Eventually, those feelings turned to relief, of course, but that transition, as with everything else, was completed alone. 

 

“Don’t be stupid, Snow! He never cared for me! He never loved me! We aren’t a family!” Regina hisses and it’s so loud and shrill that it echoes through the house, and dammit if her heart doesn’t feel just a bit lighter. It’s a shame that the lightness that comes with the truth is suddenly overshadowed by the realization that her position is quite precarious. She finds herself doing something she never thought she would. “Please, Snow, don’t tell your father about this. I just—I need more time.”

 

“You need more time...” Snow repeats languidly, her tone slightly incredulous, “More time to mooch off my father before you leave him here alone to fend for himself while you, what? Move to New York and play house with my best friend?” The younger brunette scoffs as she steps into Regina’s personal space. “How comfortable you’ve gotten, Regina.” 

 

“I care for her.” Regina explains in hopes of exploiting her step daughters weakness for love and romance. The words are true, but usually she wouldn’t give Snow such a hefty glimpse of her vulnerability. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth. 

 

Predictability, Snow deflates at the wide-eyed confession and stumbles away from her with a slow, disoriented shake of her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

 

“I know you think this is back-handed or manipulative or payback, but Emma isn’t an opportunity to hurt you. That I can promise you.” Regina reveals with slight reservation. 

 

The younger brunette looks conflicted as she shifts nervously and splays her hands against her flat belly. A few tense moments tick by before Snow straightens her spine and sets her tearful gaze back on her stepmother. 

 

“I won’t tell him, I promise you I won’t. I’m just... so tired of being a villain in your story, Regina. I’m so tired of being angry. This isn’t me! This isn’t who I want to be...” Snow sniffles as a tear drips from her eyelash to splash against her red cheeks. “A really wise woman once told me that it was easier for me to blame you than to take any blame on myself, and she was right. I didn’t want this, but I also did nothing to stop it, which makes me just as guilty. I’m sorry for the part I played in building this... this prison.”

 

Regina’s chest loosens with a languid exhale. “Thank you.” The corner of her lip twitches like she’s holding back a smile. “And Emma is hot headed, dear, but she’s also quite forgiving. Your friendship will be fine, you’ll see.”

 

The atmosphere isn’t as tense as it was a mere few seconds ago but this stilted attempt at patching up their relationship feels too forced at the moment and Snow quietly excuses herself, leaving Regina alone in the kitchen.

 

Regina stares at the empty doorway for a second before lifting her gaze upward and wrinkling her nose at the deity she’s not sure she believes in. She stage whispers, “I’m due some positive karma, big man.” A beat of silence. Regina frowns. “Also... take care of my father, will you? He’s a good man, I’m vouching for him. And... protect Emma. I’m vouching for her too. Hopefully my word means something.” 

 

Regina lowers her gaze back to the doorway as the gloomy weather starts to clear outside, sending rays of light through the kitchen windows to cocoon the brunette and warm her body. For some reason, a smile tugs at her lips. 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Emma always loved the rain, especially as a young kid aspiring to direct films. Rain was a beautiful backdrop, a romantic addition to any love scene, and that appreciation flowed into her life. When she was young, she had bouts of insomnia that were usually dependent on the home she was stuck in, but the gentle, rhythmic sounds of the water hitting her window instantly made her drowsy. Even as an adult, she bought an app that simulated rain and played it whenever she couldn’t sleep. 

 

She loves rain. She just doesn’t like walking in it. 

 

“Turn left on DeVil Drive,” The robotic voice from her phone’s GPS reminds her from its spot burrowed into her padded bra. It’s the only part of her that hasn’t soaked through yet, thankfully. 

 

This leisurely, unplanned stroll has given her ample time to plan Snow’s murder. Cyanide? A swift smack to the back of her head with a tire iron? Drop a toaster into her bath water? So many options to consider. Just as she turns onto the left as directed, her phone starts vibrating against her nipple so she ducks under a stores awning and whips out her cellphone. 

 

She grimaces when she sees Regina’s name. God knows what fresh hell Snow spewed at the older brunette when she got home. 

 

Emma goes for casual, “Hey, Regina. Everything okay?”

 

“Emma, are you alright? Where are you?” Regina sighs dramatically through her worry. “Snow stampeded through not too long ago and, well, I suppose you and I have a lot to talk about.” 

 

“Yeah, uh, about that... Snow decided I should take the scenic route home.” Emma grimaces, waiting for Regina to scold her.

 

“Emma! You’re going to catch death parading around in the rain. Thank goodness it’s clearing up now.” Regina scoffs at her but Emma kinda likes it. Someone cares if she’s hurt or gets sick. “I’ll pick you up. There’s something I want to run by you anyway. Where are you?”

 

Emma peeks her head out from under the awning to see the name of the store. “I’m in front of Geppetto Furnishings.” 

 

“Alright. Stay put.” Regina orders then hangs up. She tells Snow she’s going out to buy the remaining ingredients she’ll need for tomorrow’s dinner but the brunette gives her a suspicious glance and a weak smile, like she knows it’s more than that. She doesn’t make a fuss, surprisingly enough, and Regina heads over to the corner of DeVil Drive. 

 

Emma waves at the car as a shiver shoots down her spine. Her clothes started to dry but it’s almost like the cold seeped into her bones. Luckily, Regina had the foresight to bring a towel to drape over the passenger seat and has the heat blasted. 

 

“Hey, Reggie.” Emma teases as she burrows into the heated seats with a pleased sigh. 

 

“I will hurt you.” Regina deadpans before reaching over to squeeze her fingers. Then Emma jolts when a comb, her bag of makeup, and a change of clothes are tossed into her lap. “Fix yourself up.”

 

“For what? For Leopold’s grand reentry?” Emma mumbles sarcastically. She lifts the comb into her hand and bats at a tangle until it’s smooth.

 

“To meet my father.” Regina smirks as Emma’s jolts, nearly tearing a section of hair from her scalp in her surprise.

 

“You...” Emma whispers nervously and Regina wonders if maybe she’s moving too quickly, but the blonde breaks out a smile and her eyes are alight with something emotional that Regina can’t place. “You actually want me to meet him?” 

 

“Of course, Emma.” Regina takes Emma’s hand in hers and lifts their hands to her lips. After placing a sweet kiss against their interlaced fingers, Regina leans back to stare at her meaningfully. “I want the two most important people in my life to meet. But you can say no if—“

 

“No!” Regina startles and tries to pull her hand back but Emma squeezes and coughs to quell her nerves. “No... I want to. Let’s go.” 

 

With a nod, Regina shifts the car back into drive and starts heading in the direction she came from earlier. Emma, on the other hand, is trying to keep her anxiety low by focusing on her appearance. She changes into the fresh clothes in the front seat, squatting low so no one sees her naked ass. She narrowly misses Regina’s nose when her elbow flings through the arm socket and she almost deploys an airbag when her heel bangs into the dashboard but she manages to get into dry and lavender scented clothing, a black jean and a black tank top, without much more fanfare. Her hair is thoroughly combed and fluffed with her fingers, but she decides to just wipe off the streaked foundation and eyeliner and leave her face bare. It makes her look younger, fresher, less  _ your daughter also calls me daddy _ , which just seems like the smart play. Regina points to the black leather jacket in the back seat and Emma slips into it quickly, reveling in the warm and extremely soft cotton interior. 

 

It shocks Emma when the house they pull up to is fairly large. She knows the Millses couldn’t afford medical costs so she expected them to have shabbier digs. This place is practically a mansion and is swanky enough to be way out of her price range.

 

“Nice digs.” She comments absentmindedly.

 

“Perks of my mother’s job,” Regina replies dryly, like the mansion isn’t worth dealing with her mother, which Emma understand completely. She’d rather live under a bridge than spend a single night under the same roof as Cora Mills. “They haven’t lived here very long. In fact, I only got to enjoy this place for a few months since I got married not long after my mother was elected mayor.”

 

The driveway is empty, just like earlier, and Regina’s relieved. Meeting Henry is one thing, meeting Cora is another. 

 

“Does he know anything... about this?” Emma gestures between them. 

 

“He does...” Regina chuckles deeply, “He knew before I did, actually.”

 

Before Emma can dig into that statement, Regina’s getting out of the car and gently shutting the drivers side door. Emma quickly unclips her seatbelt and follows the brunette, trailing behind her as they walk through the front door into an almost silently home. As Regina steers them toward a room at the end of wide hallway, the only sounds are the heaters tinkering and some soft, slightly staticky voices speaking Spanish. 

 

“He watches novellas.” Regina mirthfully informs her with a smirk that tells Emma this fact has been a source of teasing in the past.

 

“The juicer, the better.” A meek voices calls out to them from the room where the flashes of the television are emanating from. Regina titters as the deep male voice snorts teasingly and the joy stays firm on the brunettes face as she stands in the doorway with Emma right off to her side, out of Henry’s view. The man says, “ _ Mija _ , I thought you left. Not that I am complaining, but to what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

Regina shoots Emma a soft look before turning back to her prone father, who was propping his torso up on the hospital-style bed. “Your talk earlier... I got me thinking.”

 

Henry hums. “Which part? I make too many great points to keep track, my love.” 

 

“About my _friend_ , daddy.” Regina says as she reaches out to grasp Emma’s wrist and pull her into the doorway. Henry exhales sharply but his eyes light up in a way Regina hasn’t seen since before his diagnosis all those years ago. 

 

“Come, come!” He excitedly waves them forward and points to the empty armchairs positioned by his bed. Regina has to tug the blonde into the action, mostly because Emma’s a little intimidated. This man is the most important person to Regina. What if he hates her? What if he doesn’t approve? What sane father would be happy that his daughter fell into a relationship with an orphan that has a penchant for troubles with the law? 

 

But those worries are unfounded. Henry already likes her. He liked her before he even met her, but now? He’s many things, including old and decrepit, but he isn’t blind. He saw his daughter earlier and, while she seemed fine being with him, she didn’t look like this. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her look so content, with a brightness in her gaze, her lips stretched into a wide smile, and her cheeks flushed and pink. Regina looks positively vibrant and lively. 

 

When the two women sink into the armchair cushions, Henry quickly shuts off his television to give them his full attention. He looks Emma straight in the eyes as he says, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“All terrible things, I presume?” Emma deadpans.

 

“Just awful.” Henry plays along, causing Regina to bite her cheek to stifle a chuckle. “But I decided to see for myself.” 

 

“Why thank you, kind sir.” Emma says in a terrible English accent that borders on Australian if Regina squints, but it makes Henry laugh so hard that he starts coughing up a lung. Regina swats at Emma’s bicep before hurrying over to the pitcher of water on his bedside to fill his cup up and bring the straw to his lips. 

 

He takes a quick sip and clears his throat but his smile stays firm. He especially loves how playful she is. This young woman doesn’t treat him like a cancer patient on his last breath. It’s refreshing. “You know Regina has showed me some episodes of your show? You’re quite a talented storyteller!”

 

Emma blushes, “Thank you, but the chefs are telling the stories and I’m just lucky enough to record them.” 

 

“You sell yourself too short,  _ cariño _ .” Henry states plainly. And he’s right. Emma’s worst critic? Yeah, it’s still Emma.

 

She deflects with, “Cariño? What does that mean?”

 

Her accent is atrocious but the pronunciation is fairly solid for someone that’s never taken a course in Spanish. She’d taken French in school, for the most part. One school in Tallahassee offered German, which she took for about six months before being shipped to a new home. 

 

“It means  _ affection _ , but we use it as a term of endearment. Similar to how you may use  _ sweetie _ .” Regina explains, much to her father’s excitement. Though Cora tried to discipline her love for her fathers’ Puerto Rican culture out of her, it never faded. As a child she spoke English and Spanish fluently and with equal expertise, but time and her mothers scalding words slowly took the Spanish language from her. Now, she can barely hold a conversation despite efforts she’s made to learn it again. 

 

“ _ Cariño _ .” Emma sounds it out, slow and meticulous, and this time it’s almost perfect. 

 

Henry claps from his perch on the bed gleefully. “ _ Muy bien! _ ”

 

“I know that one!” The blonde jolts in her chair excitedly and Regina’s body floods with affection. “I guess living in New York City has  _ some _ perks.”

 

“I lived in New York as a child, did you know that?” Henry directs his question at his daughter and she shakes her head, leaning forward to listen intently. “My parents flew from Puerto Rico to Miami, and we almost stayed since so many people spoke our language down there, but we had family in New York and made the journey north.” Henry pauses to catch his breath and swipes at his chin to remove droplets of sweat that gathered there. “It’s a great city. So many Hispanic people and restaurants and stores. It made me feel just a bit less alone, you understand?” 

 

Personally, Emma doesn’t fully understand, and she knows that comes from privilege she holds, but a part of her can sympathize. As a child, being around kids that had parents or family of some kind was difficult because they never understood her or why she was so angry, but the orphans saw right through her and made her feel like she wasn’t alone. So, while different, Emma can’t help but feel a certain kinship with his plight.

 

Her thoughts float toward television, naturally. “What about shows? Did you watch any that you saw yourself in?” 

 

Henry leans back into his fluffed pillow, perplexed and slightly awed as he realizes he can’t think of any off the top of his head. “Television, not really. Otherwise, I saw West Side Story, which wasn’t the most positive portrayal...”

 

Regina frowns, “And it hasn’t gotten much better.”

 

Emma silently mulls that over as Regina and Henry go on discussing the positive representation of Latinos on the newest season of One Day at a Time, which they gush over for a good twenty minutes. Regina and Henry speak so animatedly about the glimpse into a culture so similar to the one Cora tried to erase and Emma suddenly feels a duty to shine a spotlight on it. 

 

Their conversation is slashed by the high pitched screeching of tires in the driveway and everyone is left frozen, waiting, slightly nervous. When Regina hears the front door open, she jolts from her armchair and jog out of the room, closing the bedroom door closed behind her. 

 

It’s the first time Henry and Emma are left alone and Emma shifts in her chair, but Henry seems content to just be with her. That relaxed nature transfers to Emma when the silence never turns awkward. 

 

Then Henry leans toward her and says, “She likes you quite a lot, Emma.” 

 

With a genuine smile, Emma responds, “The feeling is mutual, believe me.” 

 

Henry hums but pins her with questing gaze. “I won’t be around much longer—“

 

“Hey, don’t say that.” 

 

“You’re just like my daughter.” Henry laughs weakly. “Not wanting to face this fact because it’s much too sad, but it is the truth. I barely have energy for these visits. I can’t play a full game of chess like I used to. My time is running out.”

 

“I’m...” Emma flounders for the right words but comes up empty.

 

“When I go, I need to know she’ll have someone to watch her back, to be there for her. Especially for as long as she’s married to that  _ pendejo _ .”

 

Suddenly it clicks. He’s asking her for a favor. 

 

“I can do that, sir. For as long as she’ll allow.” 

 

“My daughter, despite her tough facade, is at times too afraid to do what’s necessary for her own well being and happiness.” Henry extends his hand to her and she latches on and squeezes it between her clammy ones. His eyes are already drifting shut but he manages to finish his thought. “You have to be her champion. I know it’s a lot to ask—“

 

“It’s not—” The bedroom door flies open to reveal a frazzled Regina trailing behind a stoic woman that that radiates power and falsity. Henry tugs his hand away and Emma understands immediately. This must be the infamous matriarch she’s heard such  _ wonderful _ things about.

 

“We have a visitor, I see.” The woman smiles but it’s seeping in something ugly. There’s no joy behind those sienna eyes. The gaze on Emma is calculating. Cora Mills may be intrigued by her presence but there’s an undertone of annoyance in her voice that has Emma straightening her spine. 

 

She stands and extends her hand out to the older woman, who stares at the appendage with revulsion. Regina grimaces, embarrassed at her mother's lack of decency. Cora steps past Emma, ignoring her hand and bumping into her shoulder deliberately, to sidle up next to her husband. She’s facing him when she speaks again. 

 

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Miss Swan.” She says, her tone dripping with malice.

 

Emma tries to be cute. “All terrible things, I presume?” 

 

Unlike her husband, Cora doesn’t crack a smile at the joke. In fact, she whirls around and pins her with a withering glare before her expression becomes so saccharine that every person in the room tenses.

 

“Well, dear, I heard them all from my good friend Leopold White.” The older brunette quirks her brow. “So yes, all terrible, as you can imagine.”

 

Emma swallows roughly around the sudden lump in her throat. This lady makes her nervous in a way no one ever has. There’s something so sinister in her aura and it’s repellant. Outwardly, she stands firm.

 

“Ah yes, my best bud...” Emma tries to joke. It falls just as flat and she can feel Regina shriveling up behind her. Henry, on the other hand, manages to wink at her from behind  his wife’s back. 

 

“We were just about to take our leave, mother.” Regina chimes in after a few beats of extremely uncomfortable silence. 

 

“I’m sure you were.” Cora remarks, her eyes never straying from Emma’s, who stayed firm in her stance and confidence. This woman would not visibly intimidate her. 

 

“Cora, they have things to do and people to see. That’s enough, eh?” Henry mumbles under his breath, his energy depleting quickly under this suffocating atmosphere. His wife shows no outward sight acknowledging his plea but her fingers curl tighter around the beds’ plastic handrail. 

 

“Mmm, yes. You wouldn’t want to keep  _ your husband _ waiting, Regina.” Cora says tightly. It’s a warning that makes Regina shiver slightly and Emma’s quick to look away from those malicious and calculating eyes now.

 

Regina leans to the right to peer around her mother's body to smile softly at her father, which seems to piss Cora off even more, for some reason. Emma wonders if maybe Cora is envious of the easy love that flows between father and daughter or if she simply detests any outward pouring of love because she thinks it makes them weak. Either way, the acidic glare Cora sends Regina’s way has the brunette cowering and mumbling her goodbye. 

 

Emma, however, doesn’t give a damn and holds her head up high as she bats Cora’s shoulder with her own on her way to hug Henry, whose grin is just brimming with mischief. The older woman growls under her breath, just low enough for only Emma to hear, and she considers it a victory.

 

Emma winks at the exhausted man before whirling on her heels and strutting out of the room with enough confidence to make Cora’s grip on the handrail tighten until the plastic creaks. Regina bites the inside of her cheek to keep from showing the mirth building up in her lungs. 

 

As Regina follows Emma’s lead, she hears a scathing, “That insolent brat!”

 

Then, as she rounds the corner of the doorway and enters the hallway, she hears the reply from her lovable oaf of a father. “Isn’t she? I quite like her.” 

 

The smile she’d been chewing on escapes. 

 

* * *

 

“So, uh, your mom...” Emma starts as Regina stares at the stack of tomatoes in front of her and carefully plucks some of the fuller ones into her hands for a closer inspection. “She’s a piece of work.”

 

The car ride to the grocery store had been mostly silent, probably because Emma is intuitive in a way she’s never encountered before and knew she needed to process what had happened. While the possibility of Cora showing up was tangible, it hadn’t seemed too likely. But, of course, fate was a bitch that wanted to make her life more difficult. Without question, this chance encounter will be the overarching theme of rants for weeks to come. 

 

“She’s certainly something else.” Regina offhandedly remarks as her thumbs finds a spot a bit too squishy on the tomato in her hand. She gently puts it back on the top of the stack and avoids the gaze of her lover, who she can imagine is staring at her with concern as she leans over the handrail of the shopping cart. A voice in her head is telling her to snap at Emma and get her to stand straight, to not slouch, but that voice sounds suspiciously like the topic of current conversation so she avidly represses the urge.

 

“You know,” Emma starts, dragging the words out slowly like she’s debating even finishing the thought. It stings. She doesn’t want Emma to fear broaching any topic with her. She doesn’t want Emma to fear her, period. The silence stretches too long and Regina finally whips her gaze back to the blonde, who’s bouncing on her toes and scratching her chin contemplatively, and Regina relaxes, because it isn’t fear giving Emma pause. The lovable idiot is trying to find a way to say it that won’t offend, as if anything she says about her mother could. 

 

“Out with it, Swan.” Regina says delicately, deliberately being facetious by using her surname. 

 

Emma huffs playfully. “You’re hurrying me up? You? We’ve been staring at these tomatoes for a good fifteen minutes. They’re tomatoes, Regina! They’re going to end up in a sauce anyway, aren’t they?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll know they had a soft spot.” 

 

“It literally does not change the flavor, you psychopath.” Emma snorts through a laugh and Regina rubs at her lips to hold in one of her own. Mockingly, Regina blindly grabs three tomatoes and dramatically drops them into a plastic bag. Emma teases, “Wow, living on the edge there, Mills.”

 

Conversation drops as they stroll toward the bin of onions. As Regina randomly picks three bulbs, Emma finally speaks up. “Your dad.... he asked me to take care of you.” 

 

Regina freezes, her hand hovering over the roll of plastic bags next to the bin, and Emma swallows roughly. “He asked me to have your back.”

 

“And what did you say?” Regina asks, quiet and unsure. As if Emma has ever shown a trace of uncertainty about their relationship, no matter what form it took. 

 

“Regina...” Emma whispers. She’s suddenly overtly aware of how crowded the grocery store is so she subtly shuffles closer to her lover and pretends to inspect the onions. Good lord, she’s about to basically pledge fealty over pungent vegetables. “It’s an honor just to know you. If you don’t think I’d fight tooth and nail just to keep knowing you...”

 

Regina’s hand—the one not awkwardly hovering over the plastic bags—twitches against the bin, inching over toward Emma’s hip. When she brushes the tip of her pinky across the light stretch mark peeking through the slit where her tank top meets her jeans, Emma shivers and wonders how the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced is going down in a supermarket. 

 

But then Regina turns away, severing the contact and effectively ending the conversation. Emma feels a slight sting from it. 

 

At least until she hears a breathy yell from behind her, “Mrs. White!” 

 

_ Oh no.  _ Emma would recognize that garbled accent and the accompanying scent of dirt anywhere. 

 

It’s confirmed by Regina’s false smile, tight nod and the terse, “Mister Hood.”

 

He slithers into Emma’s view, pretending to scope out the onions in the bin by lifting one into his palm and tossing it into the air to catch it like a baseball. The douche. Emma suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and offers her own smile, though hers is clearly full of malice and Robin flinches back, dropping the vegetable back into the bin in his surprise to see her.

 

“Miss Swan! I, uh, didn’t expect to... wait, what’re you doing here?” Robin pauses, his eyes flickering between them. “And why are you with Mrs. White?”

 

“It’s Mills.” Regina corrects. It’s ignored by the bumbling idiot that keeps his gaze latched onto Emma. 

 

“Is Leo here?” He asks as he turns to scan the fresh fruit and vegetable section. 

 

“As if Leo would ever complete a chore.” Emma responds with enough vitriol to make the man grimace. Though that may just be his face. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m in town with Snow White and decided to help Mills with the groceries for tomorrow. Is that enough information to quell your damn thirst, Robin?”

 

Regina subtly reaches over to pinch Emma’s jean-covered thigh and Emma jolts. Luckily, the idiot is too busy inspecting the onions to notice. 

 

“Well,” Regina clears her throat and it doesn’t even make a dent in the awkwardness that has befallen them, “I hope you and your family have a wonderful Christmas, Mister Hood. Emma and I have much to do if we’re to be prepared for our festivities.” 

 

“Oh, of course!” Robin lets out forced laugh as he scratches at his patchy beard. “My apologies for disrupting.”

 

Neither woman tries to negate the need for an apology. Regina just nods politely while Emma gives him a sarcastic thumbs up, and Robin takes the hint for the first time in his life, walking out of the section without a single fruit or vegetable in his basket.

 

Every fiber of Emma’s being wants to dredge up the conversation that had been cut short but Leopold will be home soon from whatever business was important enough for him to miss out on quality time with Snow and the last thing they need is to answer more questions. 

 

They’ve been sloppy today, no doubt about it, and it’s humorous in a really anxiety producing way because they just talked the other night about cooling it and being less obvious and ignoring each other as much as they could, and they’ve royally failed. Hell, Snow may know something now, if Regina’s hinting on their phone call was any indication, Cora definitely suspects, Henry flat out knows and approves, and Robin, as usual, popped up where he’s unwanted and asked a hundred unnecessary questions.

 

But speaking of Snow... “Regina?”

 

The brunette hums as they enter the second aisle and peruse the spices lined up on the shelving. 

 

“Earlier, you said something about Snow that you needed to talk to me about?” Emma finishes and Regina sighs.

 

“Yes, I forgot to tell you in the car.” She grabs small glass containers of nutmeg and thyme and places them in the cart before turning fully toward Emma. “She knows about us.”

 

“What?!” Emma grits her teeth. “What happened?” 

 

Regina toys with the peeling paint in the shopping carts handrail, lightly pressing against Emma’s forearms that are resting against it. “She seemed so angry and convinced I’d gotten between your friendship... I suppose I assumed you told her.”

 

“I would never, Regina.” And she truly wouldn’t, not after Regina showed major hesitance to open up at the beginning of their friendship. The brunette doesn’t trust easily but she’s decided Emma is worthy of it and she won’t screw it up, especially not when it comes to Snow, who Regina already feels so much reluctance and bitterness towards.

 

“In hindsight, I should’ve known you wouldn’t, but I suppose I panicked.” Regina admits. “She seemed alright after I explained that our relationship wasn’t a tactic to hurt her.”

 

Emma scoffs at that. Because of course Snow thought it was about her. That’s always the problem, isn’t it? Snow is self-centered and righteous, and doesn’t notice that the world revolves around one point in the universe and that point is  _ not _ her. 

 

“She’s not—” Regina swallows and grimaces, like the words she’s about to utter hurt, “Snow has so many undesirable traits, but her ability to forgive and convey love so freely, that’s inherent to who she is. She just wants to know how you feel about her. I know it’s invasive and she’s overbearing at times but she does love you, Emma. If you saw the fire in her eyes when she tried to protect you from me—“

 

“She doesn’t have to protect me from you.” Emma interrupts as she turns away from the cart. She’s facing the shelving, her eyes latched onto the label of a cereal box on the shelf, but Regina can see the tense set to her shoulders. 

 

Regina doesn’t approach, knowing there are times where physical comfort isn’t something Emma wants, but she says, “I know that, you know that, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t see me as you do, and I’m partly to blame. I don’t want you to be penalized at work over one explosive argument.” Regina pauses, her arms cross, and her voice loses some confidence. “What was the argument even about?”

 

Emma turns back to face her, her lips pursed into a terse line. She leans back against the shelf, nearly knocking down the Captain Crunch she’d been analyzing, and let’s out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “It started off about you but transitioned into... I don’t even know. I started airing every grievance I’ve ever had like fucking word vomit!”

 

“Well, Snow did look positively green when I saw her so that checks out.” Regina jokes, which is slightly risky considering how discombobulated Emma seems over the fight, but, luckily for her, it works. 

 

Emma grins and shakes her head as she mutters a tittering “asshole” under her breath. Regina smacks her bicep lightly in scolding but her smirk gives her away. 

 

The rest of the shopping trip is light-hearted. Emma teases Regina on her high end purchases, because “no sane person would spend thirty bucks a pound on that smelly cheese, Regina”, and the blondes’ eyes almost pop out of her head when she catches a glimpse at the cost of their excursion. Regina just calmly hands over almost seven hundred dollars without pause though. It’s one of those moments that reminds Emma just how different their lives are. 

 

The drive home consists of Emma coercing Regina into handing over control of the auxiliary cable in exchange for sexual favors, which Emma plans to fulfill _real_ soon, and Regina pretending to hate each and every song Emma plays. 

 

“This isn’t music, this is mumbling over harsh drum beats.” 

 

Emma snorts. “I bet you listen to, like, Yo Yo Ma or something, you nerd.” 

 

“Excuse you... I prefer Vivaldi.” Regina states it with so much confidence that Emma almost chokes on the water she‘s in the process of swallowing. She twists the cap back onto the bottle and drops it into the cup holder.

 

The song changes into a sweet ballad, something slower and more sensual, and Regina winks at her like the asshole she is. 

 

“Were you seriously that weird six year old listening to orchestra music?” Emma asks as they turn onto the Main Street, passing Granny’s. 

 

“For your information, my musical tastes are wide-ranging. Vivaldi is simply a favorite of mine. My father loved to listen to his pieces, said it relaxed him, and I suppose it relaxes me now. Makes me feel close to him.” Regina confides reverently and suddenly Emma feels like an insensitive jerk. She opens her mouth to apologize but is cut off by a high-pitched chuckle. “Once Vivaldi relaxed him, he’d play    _ reggaeton _ or  _ bachata  _ and lift me into his arms and just dance like a madman. It would make me dizzy, which I found to be hysterical at my young age, so we’d end up swaying and descending into laughter.”

 

“That sounds beautiful, Regina.” Emma smiles delicately, watching as her lovers face lights up at the memories. “Maybe you could show me some of the songs you guys listened to. Who knows, maybe I’ll lift you and dance like a woman possessed.” 

 

“Hush,” Regina snorts. 

 

* * *

 

Snow is sitting at her oak desk tapping away at her keyboard and formulating a work email when the front door clicks open. She stops, listens, and smiles when she recognizes the tell-tale stomps of her father's steel-toed winter boots.

 

When she reaches the foyer, he’s there removing his coat and hanging it up on the rack, his face haggard and drained of color. 

 

“Daddy?” 

 

Leo looks at her with a soft smile as he tosses his car keys into the small glass bowl sitting atop the side table near the coat rack.

 

“My love.” He greets her affectionately and opens his arms, waiting until his daughter is safely tucked against him before wrapping them around her petite frame. 

 

She burrows into his chest. Her question is muffled by his button up shirt. “How was your business trip?” 

 

He pulls back from the embrace to wrap his arm around her shoulders and steer her toward his office. She immediately plops down on the small couch in the corner where Leo sometimes slept when his bedroom felt too constricting. He follows her lead, sitting down on the other end with a grunt. His knees pop as he lowers and he groans, rubbing his palm against the joint. 

 

The cart packed with alcohol decanters is right next to him and he casually leans over to pour two-fingers worth of scotch into a glass. Snow watches, concerned. Her father always enjoyed alcohol with his dinner or at social events but lately he’s been drinking at all hours and excessively so. Of course, she never brings it up. He’s a smart man, a busy man, and has to find ways to decompress.  _ If only his methods were less harmful to his liver _ , she thought. 

 

He takes a hearty sip and hisses at the sting as it goes down. With a smack of his lips, he turns to his daughter. 

 

She repeats her earlier question, “How was your business trip? Any good deals?” 

 

Leo runs his thumb across his lower lip, blinking owlishly. He responds absently, “No. No deals.” He blinks again and seems more focused as he trudged on, “I’m sorry I was away, princess. It was... it couldn’t be avoided.” 

 

“Is everything alright?” 

 

He clears his throat, avoids her searching gaze. “I was just dealing with some blow back from Midas’ predicament, that’s all.”

 

“Midas? Daddy, are... are you in trouble—“

 

“No!” Leo shakes his head, but his eyes are wide and he looks more unsure than she’s ever seen him. “It’s nothing you should worry about, Snow. Midas launched an open season on executives but I’ve been careful.”

 

She blanches at the use of the word  _ careful _ . He’s been careful, not innocent. 

 

“Oh... I see.” She whispers. He looks at her and frowns but nods in concession. There’s no way to defend it. 

 

Just after Midas’ offices were raided, he received a subpoena from investigators at the Bureau for his bank statements, emails, and call logs. He complied immediately, knowing just how careful he’s always been, but it came back to bite him. His easy-going attitude toward the investigation at the lunch with Snow and Emma was quickly wiped out last night when investigators questioned him on everything from shady business dealings from years ago to sexual harassment allegations he settled out of court that were funneled through corrupt agencies in hopes they wouldn’t lead back to him. 

 

He downs the rest of the scotch and starts pouring another glass, this time filling it almost halfway. 

 

“The house is quiet.” He says, slightly reserved now that Snow looks at him with narrowed eyes and distrust.

 

“Regina went to the store. Emma... she and I had a disagreement earlier and haven’t spoke since. I’m not sure where she is.” 

 

She doesn’t mention her sneaky suspicion that Emma is with her stepmother. Leo just hums as he brings the glass to his lips once more.

 

“I told you that girl is no good. You’re too good for her.” He mutters under his breath and she frowns.

 

“Emma is a great friend!” She snaps, but her moment of ferocity deflates as quickly as it came when her father turns to her with a wounded gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just that our fight opened some wounds, that’s all. You know, Emma was always there for me whenever I was upset and called or showed up, and she always told me things would get better with Regina. But I wasn’t a good friend to her, especially when she needed me most. I see that now. I suppose that has made me a bit ornery.” 

 

Leo’s eyes are dark when she connects their gazes again and she can sense so much anger rolling off of him that she sinks back into the armrest and swallows roughly. 

 

“Was it really that terrible?” He asks. At her furrowed brows, he clarifies, “Having her as a stepmother... was she really that awful to you?”

 

The air is thick with something Snow can’t place but she knows it’s far from positive. Her father’s fingers are curled into a fist, the hand holding his glass is sporting white knuckles, and his jaw is twitching, probably due to gritted teeth. For some reason, this moment feels important, like it could have an impact too great for her to shoulder. 

 

She’s saved from answering by the front door opening and two voices floating through the closed doors of her father’s office. 

 

“That must be them...” Snow states the obvious and hops off the couch, hoping it’ll snap her father out of his dark mood. She heads out of his office, leaving him behind, and meets the two women in the foyer. 

 

They’re grinning at one another as they shed their coats and slip out of their shoes, and Snow sees it now. She sees the genuine affection in Regina’s gaze and in the crinkles in the crease of her eyes. She sees the pink blush on Emma’s cheeks and the dimples framing her iridescent smile. She sees the  _ love _ , she thinks. 

 

Emma notices her first, her smile turning a bit melancholy, and when Regina follows Emma’s gaze, she clears her throat and grabs Emma’s bicep with care. “I’ll start dinner.”

 

Regina starts to head toward the kitchen but stops in front of Snow. She hesitates for a second and Snow opens her mouth to question her but Regina’s already lifting a hand to grasp and squeeze at her tense bicep, her thumb caressing the muscle until it relaxes. Snow feels her heart stutter at the affectionate gesture but before she can even say anything, Regina pulls back and leaves them, trudging toward the kitchen once more. Perhaps there’s enough love in Regina’s heart to go around. 

 

“We should talk.” Emma suggests lightly, jerking her head toward the stairs.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

As the two friends head upstairs, Leo stumbles into the foyer with a newly filled glass and watches them ascend. He waits until they’re out of sight before heading in the same direction as his wife. The older man finds her standing at the kitchen sink with her back to him as she expertly peels some potatoes. He watches her from the doorway, analyzing the movements of her hands as they toss the peels into the trash bin that’s been pulled out from its cubby in the cabinets and washes the leftover spuds.

 

He doesn’t move or speak, but an awareness, a feeling of being watched, descends on Regina and whips her head from the potatoes to see him leaning against the doorway, sipping from his glass casually.

 

She clears her throat then greets him. “Welcome home, Leo.” 

 

He hums in response and there’s something dark about him at that moment, something that makes the hairs on her neck stand. Her mind is screaming at her to not turn her back on him when his aura is so off-putting so she transfers the pot that holds the unpeeled potatoes soaking in water from the sink to the island in the center of the room and starts to peel again.

 

She focuses on her hands, on moving the peeler from the top of the spud to the bottom and repeating the action over and over with precision, but he’s overpowering her peripheral. Every slow movement of his hand lifting his glass to his mouth and back down to rest against his abdomen makes her own motion stutter. Her hands shake.

 

“I don’t understand.” His gruff voice startles her and she narrowly misses slicing her own thumb with the sharp peeler. She freezes as he pushes off the door jamb and steps closer. “You have a roof over your head, a large home, your parents are being taken care of, you’re wearing eight hundred dollar heels, for Christ’s sake.” 

 

He pauses, she tenses. Everything stands deathly still for a few beats until he lunges forward, throwing her off balance and into the counter behind her. He doesn’t stop. He presses his body against hers roughly, pining her to the marble and cabinets, and grips her wrists in his fingers with enough force to rip a whimper from her throat. His face is so close to hers that she can smell the alcohol and nearly gags. He hisses, “What the fuck do you have to be miserable about?”

 

His pelvis jerks forward in his effort to keep her still and Regina tries to pull away vigorously. She can feel his manhood against her thigh and it’s making her nauseous. She pulls her hands back and keeps pulling and twisting but his grip remains sturdy and bruising. 

 

“Oh, is that it?” He grunts viciously, purposefully thrusting his hip against her hipbone. He places his mouth right on her ear, his breath tickling her neck as he snaps, “Poor, poor Regina! Getting treated like a queen but having to play dead once in a while so she can properly thank her husband! Maybe tonight I should make you earn your keep, hm?” 

 

That snaps Regina from her whimpering. She uses her entire body to push until Leo’s falling backward. She growls a desperate, “Let me go!” as he falls against the island, taking down utensils and the pot of dirty cold water. 

 

He’s sprawled against the marble floor, covered in water and spuds—and is that blood?—and there’s shattered pieces of a plate he must’ve swiped on his way down surrounding them, when two gasps sound from the doorway.

 

Everyone freezes. Snow has her dainty hand over her mouth, her wide eyes darting between a panting Regina and her prone father, who’s coughing harshly because of the hard impact his body took. But Emma, sweet Emma, only has eyes for Regina. That concerned emerald gaze wanders from head to toe, like she’s scanning for injuries, and she’s grabbing the door jamb with white knuckles. Emma wants to run to her, but Snow is blocking her path and Leo isn’t unconscious. _ That bastard _ . 

 

Snow startles them when she lunges into the kitchen, falling to her knees next to her father with a breathy, “Daddy!” 

 

Leo groans as Snow helps him sit up. She tries to cup the back of his head but he winces and hisses, and she pulls away as quickly as she can. Her hand is covered in thick red blood and she gasps. Regina finally notices the patch of dark red on the corner of the island. 

 

Snow looks up at her, accusations on her tongue, but Regina jolts from her spot by the sink and bolts out of the kitchen and up the stairs without looking back. Emma’s heart drops to her feet.

 

Snow is slowly helping her father to his feet and mumbling comforting words but Emma’s still staring up at the stairs. Every cell in her body is screaming for her to follow Regina and, hell, it’s not like Leo is conscious enough to notice her whereabouts.

 

“We have to take you to the hospital! You’re bleeding and could’ve broken something!” Snow screeches loudly enough to make Leo wince, but he concedes with a small nod. His elbow is throbbing and he can’t bend his arm without wanting to scream, and his head is killing him. He also looks a wreck, which has Emma suppressing a smirk. 

 

“Emma...” Snow says as she leads her father back to the foyer. She stops to stare at Emma poignantly. “Stay here and keep an eye on things. We’ll be back later.”

 

The young brunette sighs, her mouth twisting, and Emma knows she’s thinking of the short conversation they’d had upstairs before this fiasco when Emma confessed to feeling like their friendship is unbalanced, with Snow using Emma for comfort and help much more often than the reverse. Hell, the job is the only thing Snow has ever done for her. Lucky for them, the job has brought her to Regina, which seems to be everything to Emma these days. 

 

Snow leaves after grabbing her father’s car keys, slipping them both into their coats, and bunching up a scarf to press against his head wound. 

 

Their departure leaves the house deathly quiet. 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically smut.... because lesbianism prevails haha

Emma loves the rain because it calms her, because it smacks against windows and makes a space feel more cozy and less lonely. It’s strange. A symbol of melancholy brings her joy. But it does so because it removes the one thing that makes her hair stand on end. Silence.

 

Silence was never a positive thing. It never calmed her or gave her time to reflect. Silence meant she said the wrong thing. Silence meant a lonely, cold apartment. Silence meant her foster parent didn’t even have the energy to sigh anymore and was gearing up to dial her social worker. 

 

And now, as she climbs the staircase at the White mansion with only the wooden creaks for company, she thinks silence is eerie and harmful. The blows, bruises, and words cause damage, but the silence consists of strung together moments where you’re utterly alone, stuck reliving it all, believing you deserved it. 

 

The observation makes her shiver as she races up the stairs and calls out to her lover once she’s firmly planted on the second floor landing, “Regina! It’s just me! They’re gone!” 

 

She hears a door click open behind her and she turns then she’s immediately startled by a body slamming into hers. A blur of brown hair blinds her but she smells apples and vanilla and she relaxes into the embrace. Regina burrows into her and wraps her arms tightly around Emma’s waist, and Emma holds on as Regina cries into her shoulder, dampening the strap of her tank top.

 

She doesn’t ask what happened, because she pretty much knows. She heard Regina yell at him to let her go, the crash of his body and the ceramic colliding with the floor, and she saw the damage that ensued. She knows what happened and she wants to follow Snow to the hospital and bash in his head, but she also knows that Regina needs her. 

 

Regina’s shoulders eventually stop shaking and her tears dry but the hands fisting Emma’s tank top are still trembling so Emma stays put with her arms wrapped tight around her, her hands roaming over Regina’s back over and over, and her chin resting on the crown of her dark hair. 

 

Regina melts into the embrace. She feels safe and protected and, dare she say it,  _ loved _ . Her wrists are still throbbing but they aren’t discolored, at least not yet. There’s an already formed bruise in the middle of her arm from when he pinned her to the countertop edge and her shoulder feels sore, most likely from her attempts to free her wrists. All in all, she’s physically fine, especially in comparison to the aggressor, but her mind is flickering through self-deprecating and fear-mongering thoughts like a slideshow.

 

“Hey...” Emma whispers into her hair. She coils her fist tighter around the cotton of her tank top. “Let’s go lay down in my room, okay? I’m still a little anxious and jelly-legged from before.” 

 

Regina almost snaps that she has nothing to be nervous about, that she isn’t the one living this hell, that she won’t reap the consequences of this, but she bites her tongue. If she witnessed Emma battered and bruised, she would’ve been worse. She would’ve collapsed  _ after _ murdering whoever was responsible. At least Emma is level headed and kind to a fault, and managing to hold herself together and bring her the comfort she needs. 

 

She sighs against Emma’s chest then nods, reveling in the soft skin against her cheek. 

 

Emma tugs them down the hallway but never makes any moves to unravel their arms. They look utterly ridiculous stumbling down the hallway wrapped around each other like they’ve been hot glued together, but they manage to reach the guest room and become tangled in the silk sheets of Emma’s bed not long after. Regina leans away to tug off her heels and aggressively toss them onto the floor one by one. She glares at them, silently fuming, and Emma’s too afraid to ask what the shoes did to her to incur such wrath, not because she’s fearful of Regina but because she knows the reason is being driven to the hospital and she already wants to strangle him. 

 

They’re quiet for a long while, just enjoying the thumps of their hearts beating and the rise and fall of their chests as Regina practically splays her body over Emma’s. 

 

Then Emma starts shaking, going red-faced in an effort to suppresses the chortles surely trapped behind her teeth. Regina smacks her arm without even asking what the hell is so funny but Emma grabs the hand that swatted her and kisses it.

 

“You totally went full-on Hulk on his ass!” Emma wheezes and dabs at the corners of her eyes. “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to lay him out for  _ months  _ but I have to say seeing you do it was so much more satisfying somehow!” 

 

“It’s not funny, Swan.” Regina says. Her smirk contradicts her. 

 

“He deserved it.” Emma states it so matter-of-factly that Regina thinks she might believe it too. If someone as kind as Emma thinks it...

 

“Possibly. He’s going to make my life hell from this point on though.” Regina chews on her bottom lip. “He’s been drinking more than ever. It’s... changing things.”

 

Emma purses her lips. “Changing things?”

 

Regina burrows into Emma’s chest and hides her face in the crook of her lovers neck, muffling her response slightly. “He’s more forward, aggressive. He always manhandled me but... it’s different.” She sighs shakily. “When he used to grab me, it felt like the end of the argument, like he was exasperated with the tit-for-tat and wanted it to be over and done with. Now... his touch feels like the beginning of something else. I don’t know how to explain it.”

 

“Regina...” Emma sounds strained and Regina already can envision the wet sheen blurring emerald eyes. “We could go right now. We could drive the hell away from here and never look back.”

 

“We could,” Regina concedes, then sighs. “But Snow, your job, and my father would be in the rear view mirror, and I don’t think we can live peacefully knowing what we left behind.”

 

She feels Emma’s slight shake of the head. In agreement or out of sheer frustration? Regina doesn’t know, doesn’t bother asking, and Emma doesn’t offer any other insight. 

 

They lapse into silence again and it makes Emma’s skin crawl. The mansion is so large and the ringing silence echoes through every corridor and crevice. It’s unnerving. She briefly wonders just how Regina manages being alone in the house for such extended periods of time. Then she remembers that silence can be a godsend for some. Silence can mean no yelling, no demands, no expectations, no anger, no snobby and overbearing stepdaughters, no frivolous noise just for the sake of Leo hearing his own voice, no gruff fingers wrapping around wrists, no being pinned to a mattress, no pain. Silence can be a godsend for some. She tightens her arms to pull them together more soundly, leaving no room between them and letting their skin touch and graze.

 

“Speaking of Snow...” Regina prompts slyly as her fingers trail over the indentations of Emma’s collarbone. 

 

“We didn’t really get to talk much. We sat down, apologized for how we handled our argument, and I started to say some stuff, but we were obviously interrupted.” Emma swallows harshly, remembering the sheer panic she felt when she heard Regina yelp and growl for Leo to let her go. “We thought we heard stuff being thrown and ran downstairs. Apparently it was you tossing the fucker on his ass.”

 

“I’m sorry...” Regina presses her mouth against the raised skin her fingers are skimming over and whispers into her collarbones. Emma shivers for two distinct reasons.

 

“Don’t apologize for defending yourself.” She replies, her tone leaving no room for argument. Regina hasn’t told her much about her relationship with Leo. She’s spilled minor details over time that Emma’s pieced together to get a blurry, horrifying picture of the situation her lover finds herself in. Even so, Emma knows Leo had it coming. 

 

Regina snuggles into her, her hands sliding down to wrap around Emma’s waist and stroke the strip of her belly exposed by the raised tank top. Those fingers ghost over her hip bones and electricity shoots from her core all the way down to her toes, making her shiver and shift on the mattress to try to find a position that’ll ease the ache between her legs.

 

It’s unnecessary though, because those questing fingers that were resting on her hip drift lower and lower until they’re pressing firmly against the inseam of her jeans. The pressure is directly over her clit and her hips roll automatically, but she grabs the hand that’s within seconds of making her come.

 

“Regina...” Emma wishes this was a normal afternoon, that they could make love for hours without worrying about anything except keeping hydrated so they can ravage each other some more, but the brunette was just involved in something objectively traumatic. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for—“

 

“He told me he was going to make me earn my keep.” Regina says, her voice sorrowful and wobbly, and Emma hates it. Her muscles tense as she tries to calm herself down from the rage induced by the implication. 

 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Emma growls and Regina can feel the sincerity in the statement, so much so that Regina rises to meet Emma’s concerned gaze and smiles, her lower lip trembling. 

 

“He makes me feel disposable. But you...” She stares at the blonde until Emma’s hands unfurl from a fist to wrap around her shoulders and squeeze lightly, affectionately. Her voice hitches as she says, “You make me feel like the sun, like the universe revolves around me.”

 

The corner of Emma’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile or fighting tears, maybe both, but Regina feels something in her chest loosen and her eyes start to burn and blur. And then there's gentle knuckles wiping away tears she didn’t realize had fallen then soft lips against her forehead and mindless comforting words being uttered against her skin that sound a lot like, _ “You are my sun.” _

 

But if Regina is the sun, Emma is the stars and the asteroids and the moon, colorful and bright and strong, and worthy of appreciation and awe. Emma is  _ everything.  _ And, as Emma holds onto her likes she’s someone she can’t lose, she realizes she fell in love with Emma somewhere along the way. She’s never felt romantic love before, so she didn’t notice, but this must be what fairytales are all about, she thinks. 

 

She was drowning and Emma was like coming up for air.  _ Yes, that must be love.  _

 

“Reggie?” Emma’s voice is an odd mixture of concern and mischief, and Regina sniffs. Somehow, along the way, she fell in love with an idiot. A lovable idiot but an idiot nonetheless. 

 

“Don’t call me that.” She husks, a smile on her lips and drying tears on her cheeks. 

 

“Made you smile, didn’t it? I think you dig it.” 

 

“I do not. I’m simply amused by your idiocy, darling.” She deadpans then immediately feels a light pinch on her ass cheek and jerks upward with a small giggle—an honest to god giggle that sounds so foreign coming from her mouth. 

 

In retaliation, she moves the fingers still hovering over Emma’s crotch and presses down until Emma moans into Regina’s hair, “Evil.” 

 

“You love it.” Regina says it as a joke but her muscles tense, waiting for a response that’ll either lift her spirits or crush her.

 

As usual, Emma doesn’t disappoint. With awe in her voice, she says, “I do, you know?” 

 

It’s a declaration of something grand, even if the words aren’t explicitly said. They’ve both been through so much heartache and hurt, and those three words tend to get trapped in their lungs whenever the time calls for them, but it doesn’t make the feeling behind these utterances any less impactful. 

 

This time is no different. The three words she wants to proclaim loudly are trapped in her chest. Instead, she says, “As do I.”

 

Emma’s wide, bright smile tells her the underlying message is received. That smile clenches into gritted teeth, a hiss flying from her lips, when Regina’s fingers press down again, rubbing a slow path across the seam of the jeans with the intention of finishing what she started.

 

Regina grumbles when Emma takes her hand away from the apex of her thighs to interlace their fingers but her disappointment quickly fades to excitement when she feels plump lips on her pulse point, sucking gently to make her back arch but not leave a mark. 

 

“Emma...” She husks as those lips part to lick the taut tendon in her neck then drop sweet kisses that are too light to do much. Still, Regina shivers and a moan rumbles in the back of her throat. 

 

She angles her head back and gives the woman beneath her more room to explore her skin. Emma takes the hint and moves across her throat gently, reverently, at a leisurely pace that has Regina squirming on top of her. Still, she’s careful not to leave a mark of any kind. This incident made one thing abundantly clear: Leopold White is unbalanced, entitled, and not afraid to lash out physically and verbally. She refuses to give him any more ammunition against the woman she loves.

 

Emma freezes, her mouth lingering on the sensitive skin behind Regina’s ear _. The woman she loves _ ? She blinks.  _ Yeah, that sounds about right _ , she thinks jovially. 

 

Regina squirms and whines after a few seconds of a light tickling breath on her neck, and Emma suddenly remembers that she had been in the middle of something  _ quite _ important and picks up where she left off. 

 

She takes the lobe nearest to her lips into her mouth and sucks heartily, making the brunette moan so softly that Emma only hears it because her ear is close to those lips she’s become addicted to. 

 

“Emma, please.” Regina is practically begging at this point. For what exactly, she’s not sure. She wants everything. She wants Emma everywhere all at once. She’s already so eager, her upper thighs covered in her arousal, and she needs her so badly. With a smirk, she realizes this is what sex should be, that this intimacy is what she’d always heard about. Now she can truly say she sees the appeal. Though the fact that this need has reduced her into a writhing mess is troubling—or would be troubling if she could find it in her to care with Emma’s mouth getting so close to her still covered stiff nipple. 

 

She feels a puff of laughter hit her chest then hears Emma’s amused voice say, “Is this  _ my _ shirt?”

 

“No.” Regina can’t stifle the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

 

Emma snorts, “Liar. You forget, I always know when you’re lying.”

 

“Ah, yes, the infamous superpower you claim to have.” 

 

“It’s real, Regina, and it may not be perfect—“ Regina snorts, Emma playfully bites the fleshy portion of Regina’s exposed cleavage, “It may not be perfect but with you, I always know. And I  _ know _ that’s my shirt _ ,  _ you thief!”

 

Regina smirks, no longer able to feign innocence. “Hmm, alright, you caught me. Looks like you’ll just have to confiscate it,  _ Miss Swan _ .”

 

Emma basically incinerates on the spot at the sultry tone but her hands move without conscious direction to grip the hem of the black t-shirt and lift. Regina’s arms raise as Emma slips off the clothing before tossing it away carelessly. If she wasn’t already dripping, the sight of Regina’s breasts practically spilling out of the lace bra that left almost nothing to the imagination would’ve sent all blood rushing south to the apex of her thighs. But she wanted nothing left to the imagination. Zero. Zilch. Nada. 

 

They’d rushed their first and second  times due to their desperate need to claim one another and bring pleasure, and Emma hadn’t taken a moment to just soak in the sight of Regina’s body open and wanting. That thought has her fingers skittering across Regina’s bowed back to unsnap the clasps and drag the lace slowly down tan arms until round, perky breasts were exposed.

 

Emma’s hands slide toward them instinctively. Her fingers brush against the extremely sensitive peaks, making Regina shudder lightly and her breath hitch. A hiss breaks the silence when Emma curves her thumb and pointer finger inward to squeeze the hard tips, only slowing slightly when Regina’s nipples were hard enough. Then those fingers gently pinch over and over until she’s so slick and ready that she’s practically mewling as her hips lazily thrust against Emma’s covered abdomen. 

 

Regina squeaks girlishly when Emma lifts her and tosses her into the mattress. The blonde hovers over her with an expression so open and vulnerable that Regina would cry if she wasn’t so devastatingly turned on.   

 

Her desperation has her tugging the form-fitting tank top off of the blonde roughly and unbuttoning those deliciously tight black jeans that separate her from the view she hasn’t been given the chance to admire. When she rubbed Emma into an orgasm on that couch the day before, they hadn’t shed a single item of clothing and she suddenly thinks she’ll combust if she doesn’t get to worship every pore. 

 

Emma has other plans. Her attempt to paw at Emma’s chest is interrupted by a sly move that ends with her nipple being sucked into Emma’s mouth and lashed with an eager tongue until Regina’s gyrating against Emma’s toned abs. 

 

She gasps quietly when Emma switches to her other breast and raises her hand to delicately squeeze the one she just left behind. The blondes affection is so reverent that Regina feels like she’s shaking inside from the emotion and the arousal. It manifests in quaking moans, quivering abdominal muscles and thighs, and hurried breathing. 

 

Emma startles her when she shoots away from her breast and straightens, her bended knees between Regina’s parted legs, pushing the hem of her skirt upward so it’s pooled by her upper thigh. Those nimble fingers slip under her and prod at her lower back until Regina arches enough for her to tug at the skirts zipper. Emma’s hand follows the zipper down, down over her lower back and then her ass, and her skin twitches under each light touch.

 

Her skirt is slowly dragged down her legs, slowly enough to rattle Regina’s sanity, but it joins the rest of her clothing on the floor soon enough and leaves Regina clad in only a thin lace panty. Emma wastes no time. She removes the the tiny scrap of cloth, though her movements are quick now, as if she’s also lost her sanity.  

 

After a departing kiss to eager lips, Emma starts to slide down Regina’s body but a strong grip on her bicep halts her descent. “Emma, wait. Stay with me.”

 

She’s sees understanding in emerald eyes and sighs in relief when the blonde settles over her, her hands on either side of Regina’s head and her lips placing kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips, and everything in between. 

 

A faint “always” is muttered against the damp skin by her hairline, a sensitive spot Emma discovered the first time her lips roamed Regina’s body. Mindful of the bruises on Regina’s arms and hip, Emma’s hand carefully slithers south to slowly rub at the full lips coated in slick arousal and the light touches drive her mad. She writhes against the mattress, her hips jutting upward in an attempt to gain some friction, but Emma clicks her tongue, amused. 

 

“Patience is a virtue, Regina.” She says, her breath caressing the brunette’s ear, making her quiver. 

 

“It isn’t one of mine, darling.” She rasps back, her voice deep and husky as it flows from her heaving lungs. Her hands pull at Emma’s shoulders, silently begging for more contact, and Emma finally lowers her body so they’re touching for head to toe, her fingers trapped between them and pressing down on Regina’s pulsating clit. 

 

_ Good lord _ , Regina thinks wearily,  _ how in hell did I ever doubt my affinity for women? _

 

But her thoughts are stunted when Emma’s hips lift to release her hand from where it had been trapped by their pelvises and those talented fingers dip lower and lower until they hit a pool of arousal gathered at her entrance. Emma swipes her middle and point fingers through it and drags up until her clit is lubricated. Even the slightest touch has her hips jerking off the bed again and Emma chuckles, though it’s raspy and full of want. At least Regina knows she isn’t the only one lost in this feeling. 

 

Emma circles her engorged clit several times, but the touch is so light that it simple teases.  _ As if she isn’t wet enough already.  _

 

“Emma...” She whispers into the blonde curls tickling her nose. She doesn’t want to beg, doesn’t want to seem so desperate, but she  _ is _ . She is that desperate. Her body is on fire and there’s a tension in her lower belly that needs to be dealt with. “ _ Please _ .”

 

Instead of the smug grin Regina expects to see on thin pink lips, she finds a pensive frown. Emma leans down and lays a sweet kiss on her brow as she whispers against her, “You don’t have to beg. You are my queen, Regina. I will give you everything, I promise. Let me...” Emma swallows, her eyes closing, “Let me love you.”

 

Regina smiles then. It wobbles as emotion courses through her, but it doesn’t disappear. Even when Emma’s fingers press down on her clit, she smiles as she moans. She smiles as she opens her mouth to take Emma’s tongue. She smiles as Emma’s fingers slip into her and start a rhythm so slow but deep. She  _ smiles _ . 

 

Emma’s hips come forward to push against the back of her hand and make each thrust reach deeper, penetrate harder, make Regina cry out even louder. 

 

The whole house practically vibrates with the sounds of their grunts and groans, of the headboard smacking rhythmically against the wall alongside the slapping of their skin, of Emma’s loud curses and Regina’s gasps and cries, of the creaking of the old wooden frame of the bed. These erotic sounds only make Regina even slicker and allow for a third finger to enter her without resistance. 

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ .” Regina yells, high pitched, almost sobbing deliriously. Her belly tightens with each hard thrust and the heat builds and builds until she’s sweating and her hips are meeting Emma’s fingers desperately. The blonde doesn’t slow down even after several minutes despite holding herself up solely with her left forearm by Regina’s head, the muscles twitching and burning in effort to keep her from collapsing. 

 

“ _ Come on, come on, come on _ .” Regina whispers, more to herself, as if begging her orgasm to ravage her. “ _ Oh, just a little more! _ ”

 

Emma tucks her head into the crook of Regina’s neck and grunts animalistically. She curls her three fingers upward with the next stroke as her palm smacks against Regina’s clit and receives a gush of arousal, so she does it again and again until, “ _ Oh, I’m—I’m gonna come! _ ”

 

And then Regina’s back arches and a guttural scream leaves her lips, surprising them both. She shakes, her body twists, and Emma’s fingers keep pounding into her until she swats at Emma’s abdomen in signal to stop. She shudders when Emma withdraws, those long digits slick and covered with the result of her toe-curling orgasm, and then whimpers when those same fingers disappear behind smirking lips as Emma sucks the cum from them. 

 

Regina let’s out a delirious chuckle that’s deep and raspy and hitches on the tail end because her throat is a bit sore for the scream she let out before. Sex is quite addictive when it’s done with a partner she trusts and cares for deeply. Even those adult videos she watched could not compare with the sweet and loving embrace she’s currently wrapped in. Though role playing as realtor and client has some merit, she supposes. Anything with Emma seems to have merit.

 

“You’re so sexy, Regina.” Emma whispers into her ear, startling her from her thoughts. Her next words have her writhing against the mattress again. “I wish I had my strap on—fuck, I could combust just thinking about it.” 

 

And even though she usually detests having anything phallic-shaped near her— _ side effect of being married to Leopold _ —her entire body warms at the visual of Emma wearing the toy, fucking her deep and hard and making her feel  _ taken _ . To be taken consensually, to give her body and her pleasure to another and to enjoy doing so. It was  _ thrilling _ . 

 

Thoroughly distracted by the images flooding her mind, she doesn’t notice Emma’s descent until a strong tongue is parting her slick folds to suck gently on her still throbbing clit. With a gasp, her hands fly down to push Emma’s head away, worrying about the sensitivity, but when all she feels is warmth in her lower abdomen, they instead curl into a fist around blonde strands and hold that talented mouth against her intimate flesh. 

 

That tongue thrashes side to side then gently suckles then moves in a tight circle, and the ministrations are so unpredictable and so damn good that Regina almost pushes her away again. But then Emma’s hands are squeezing her nipples and Regina’s focus becomes way too hazy. 

 

Emma hums into her pussy, the strong vibrations hitting the side of her clit so deliciously and bringing her even closer to the precipice. 

 

Regina comes again after a hard and long suck; this time, her moans are quiet, shaky, and hitched, like her throat is dry and sore from the rip-roaring scream elicited by her first orgasm. 

 

When Emma’s head pops back into view, the smug grin on those wet lips almost makes Regina growl but she’s still pulsing and sweaty—and yes, Emma has a reason to be smug. But that doesn’t mean she won’t try her damnedest to wipe it off.

 

She takes Emma by surprise when she puts all of her strength into a shove that sends the blonde flying to the side and on her back on the mattress. Before she can even finish squawking at the manhandling, Regina’s straddling her hips and leaning down to cover her arousal-coated mouth with her own swollen lips. 

 

The brunette swipes her tongue over Emma’s chin and tastes her own cum and groans as she then sucks on the pouty bottom lip begging to be tasted. She pulls back with a loud pop and smacks her lips in a manner that’s so uncharacteristic it makes Emma chuckles huskily. 

 

“See how good you taste?” She asks rhetorically as she cheekily swipes her own tongue over her upper lip to gather up the cum that lingered. 

 

Regina exhales, her eyes slotting shut. “I want to taste you now.” 

 

With a heady moan, Emma nods and tries to press their lips together but Regina is already sliding down the mattress to lay flat in between Emma’s legs, staring at the trimmed blonde hair above the glistening pink folds she’d touched but hadn’t gotten a chance to see until now. 

 

Nerves flutter in her chest as nasty insecurities, every slight Leo’s made against her body and her skill in the bedroom, flow through her mind. What if she can’t please Emma as Emma pleased her? What if she’s so lackluster that Emma slowly loses interest? Some people claim sex isn’t too important in a relationship, but was she just kidding herself? 

 

Suddenly, a soft pair of hands are cupping her flushed cheeks and sweeping away those thoughts as quickly as they’d come. She looks up and sees the pure admiration, lust, passion, and love in Emma’s eyes and she realizes that the sex isn’t simply good because of skill, but because it was done with someone she loves in return. 

 

And for someone she loves, she can learn. For Emma, she can try, can take direction, and will make her feel good and satiated. Because Emma deserves to feel as loved as she did and Regina wants to be the one to cause those feelings. 

 

Spurred by her revelation, Regina leans down and takes her first lick. She starts at the bottom, right over her opening where so much arousal has pooled, and slowly licks up until she feels prickly hair against her lips. She thinks she missed Emma’s clit, or at least didn’t put enough pressure, because the blonde simply inhales sharply. Her hips don’t jerk and her thighs don’t tremble, and Regina’s determined to make that happen. 

 

So she slips back down and allows her tongue to roam over the folds to discover every sensitive spot, to find that hooded clit, to kiss and bite the puffy lower lips covered in wetness, allowing Emma’s unique flavor to coat her tongue. She’s already addicted and wonders how she’s gone so long not experiencing this, whether it be soft curves and wet folds and smooth skin or blonde hair and pink lips and sure hands in particular. 

 

All she knows is she can’t go back to pretending that this isn’t what she wants, but that’s a dilemma for another time. Now, she pulls Emma’s clit into her mouth and sucks gently and rhythmically until the blonde’s hips are thrusting upward, begging for more contact. She accepts the silent demand and sucks hard, drawing a surprised gasp that could be mistaken for a moan, then she slides her fingers, which had been kneading pale thighs, toward her entrance and speedily sinks two fingers into Emma. 

 

That garners a reaction that is unmistakable. Emma’s whimpers so emphatically the mattress vibrates and Regina’s lips pull into a smug grin against the sensitive flesh she’s worshipping. Perhaps eating pussy is Regina’s natural born talent. 

 

Still, she pushes her ego aside. She hasn’t made Emma come yet and that’s her main focus. She wants to hear her name fall from those lips in ecstasy, feel her inner walls tighten around her fingers, and literally taste the fruits of her labor. 

 

So she doubles down and emulates the movements Emma had done on her minutes before. She’s licking quick circles around Emma’s clit when it finally happens. Her back arches, her fingers twisted into Regina’s dark hair and pulling, whether in encouragement or begging for mercy she’s not sure, but Regina doesn’t stop sucking until those hips fall flat against the mattress and Emma’s chest is heaving out surprised chuckles. 

 

“ _ Jesus _ , are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Emma looks so astonished that Regina isn’t sure if to be offended or smug. Good thing she’s still too hopped up on adrenaline and endorphins to be offended. 

 

Plus, Emma already has Regina on her back, their sensitive centers sliding against one another as the director slots their hips together, and all thoughts of anything fade. The lazy thrusts make their clits bump over and over until Regina sighs. She’s hungry for more and sure as hell doesn’t want this moment to end, but she’s never come three times in a row before.

 

“Emma, I don’t think I can.” She says, but the blonde sees through the slight nerves and smiles lovingly.

 

“I’d like to try.” Emma pulls back slightly, her heart skipping a beat when Regina whimpers. That’s a clear green light but, just to be safe, she asks, “That okay?” 

 

Her answer comes in the form of Regina’s hands landing solidly on her ass cheeks and pushing until Emma’s forearms give out, making her tumble onto Regina and connecting them from head to toe. More importantly, it brings their sensitive clits together again.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Emma jokes before sucking on Regina’s upper lip and licking over that little scar on the left side that just adds to her lovers beauty. 

 

They rock against each other and keep a steady rhythm. Emma’s mouth wanders over the tanned, sweaty skin in her mouths’ reach until lithe hands drag her face back up and place her forehead against Regina’s. And while they’d tasted each other, let their fingers roam over every inch of available skin and bring them to the brink several times, this manages to be the most intimate moment of all. 

 

Regina’s eyes are open and vulnerable and they’re staring at Emma like she hung the moon. She feels her heart thump against her ribcage so hard she’s worried it’ll burst, and maybe she can blame the exertion or dehydration or literally anything else, but she knows what she’s seeing isn’t a mirage. It’s pure, undiluted, scary, worthy-of-a-love-song  _ love _ . And her heart? It’s beating so hard because it wants leap out of her chest and land in Regina’s palm. It’s hers to hold anyway, isn’t it?

 

And usually this revelation would have Emma Swan running for the hills. But with Regina, she’s running  _ towards _ it.  And perhaps the whole point of true love isn’t to let someone find you, to let someone chase after you when you keep running. Maybe the whole point of true love is that you want to run toward it, to embrace it, to cherish it, to be terrified to lose it. Someone once told her that she’d know when she found home because she’d miss it and she thinks she’d miss Regina even if she never met her. 

 

The words manifest in her lungs, traverse around her heart, and run toward Regina. 

 

_ “I love you _ .” 

 

It’s whispered onto Regina’s parted lips with so much honesty and devotion, and Regina feels them reach into her and heal wounds she didn’t even know existed. She smiles so brightly she rivals the sun. 

 

“ _ I love you too. _ ” 

 

Just as the last syllable is uttered, Emma leans down and kisses her and pretends her eyes aren’t burning. Their hips keep thrusting back and forth and the tension building between her hips is so close to exploding. She feels a whimper against her lips and knows Regina is just as close. 

 

One of their phones ping from somewhere in the room but it’s drowned out by twin moans that are boisterous enough to zing through both of them as they writhe against each others’ sweaty body. The thrusting slowly fades as they pant heavily to catch their breath. 

 

“Apparently I can.” Regina teases, referring to the conversation from before. Her body feels so satiated and relaxed and her swollen lips pull into a smile. 

 

Emma rolls onto her back and urges Regina to snuggle into her side. The brunette throws her arm over Emma’s midsection and rests her head on her chest, soothed by the soft thumps of her lovers heart. 

 

“I meant it, you know.” Emma says. At Regina questioning hum, she clarifies, “That I love you—That I’m in love with you. That wasn’t, like, adrenaline or endorphins or anything.  _ I love you _ .”

 

“Emma,” She feels the loving whisper against her breast and the burning behind her eyes starts up again, “I already knew.”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“What is it you always say? Actions speak louder than words?” Regina recites the phrase sardonically, having heard Emma say it far too many times in the past, and receives a playful slap on her ass. She sobers and her fingers draw nonsensical patterns against the pale skin protecting the heart she’s quite fond of. “You’ve been showing me your love for a long time, Emma. You showed me and I felt it. I knew.” 

 

“Yeah,” Emma bites her lip, “I knew too, I think. But it’s nice to hear it out loud, I guess?” 

 

“Yes... very much so.” Regina concedes. “I—“

 

A phone pings again but this time it’s deafening in the silence. Regina rolls to the side to check her cellphone on the nightstand to find no new messages. Emma’s, however, is on the hardwood floor and flashing incessantly. She reaches down and quickly hands it over to the blonde.

 

Emma scans the new messages with a frown. “It’s Snow. He’s got a grade 3 concussion and a sprained wrist. They’re keeping him for observation. Snow said he’ll be released tomorrow morning.” She shakes her head. “Such a merry Christmas Eve that’s gonna be, huh?”

 

“Perhaps he’ll have permanent amnesia and forget the last twelve hours?” Regina tries to joke but it falls flat to them both.

 

Still, Emma plays along as she types back a response to Snow. “From your lips to Santa’s ears. But hey, at least you’ll get to boss me around since I’ll be your sous chef?” 

 

“You’re a line cook at best, Miss Swan, but as long as you don’t burn down my kitchen...” Regina mumbles sleepily and Emma lovingly rubs her palms up and down the brunettes naked back. 

 

“Hey, I make a mean grilled cheese!” She whispers conspiratorially and feels Regina’s lazy smile against her skin. 

 

“You’ll make it for me one day.” 

 

Emma tightens her hold and presses a kiss to Regina’s disbelieved but silky brown hair. “Yeah, one day.” 

 

Emma’s eyes drift shut as Regina snuggles even closer to her. The air in the room is freezing but their bodies generate enough combined heat to make them sticky, though it’s not enough to pull them apart. 

 

Huddled in the blankets and a mountain of pillows, with dark hair and the scent of apples tickling her nose, Emma finds home.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

_To: David Nolan_

_From: Snow White_

_Subject: Update_

 

_Hello, David. I’m sorry I’m responding so late to your last email but daddy was being examined, then settled into a room, then taken to do a CT scan. He has a grade 3 concussion. It’s strange to see him so disoriented but the doctor thinks he should be okay with some rest. His wrist is mildly sprained as well, so they wrapped it and gave him some pain relievers._

_He told me what happened and it’s tearing me apart, David. I don’t want to believe he’s capable of such aggression, but I heard Regina yell for him to let her go and I saw the marks and the aftermath. I don’t think I can pretend anymore._

_I’m staying with him overnight though. Thankfully, he was given a solo room and the nurses were kind enough to bring me a cot. It’s not ideal but he needs me._

_It’s definitely not the ideal way to start off Christmas either. But I’m wishing you the best and sending you my love. This year, I’m grateful for you._

 

* * *

 

The bruises on her arm aren’t as bad as she thought they’d be, but they’re still a ghastly mixture of blue, yellow, and green that are splattered from her elbow to her wrist with a splotch on her left bicep. She grimaces at the mirror when her finger presses a bit too roughly over the marks on her forearm.

 

She flexes the muscles of her hand against the bandages around her wrist and palm used to compress the possible sprain she might have. It hurt when she put her weight on it but she could roll the joint without too much pain. Emma had scoured through the guest bath and found the sticky adhesive tape in the first aid kit and had immediately sat her down to wrap it after Regina got out of the shower that morning.

 

Emma is upstairs showering now, probably using up all the hot water, as Regina slowly sinks into her own personal angst. Last night, in the throes of passion with the one person she cared about, she forgot who she was. This morning, waking up to warmth and silence, in the arms of the woman she loves and in a bed unmarred by _him_ , she forgot what happened.

 

But standing in front of the mirror of the first floor bathroom alone, staring at the litany of marks shaped like thick fingers, she remembers all too clearly. She also remembers that Leo will be home soon and she’ll have to play the part again.

 

She trails her gaze back to her own face and frowns at the devastation she finds swimming in her eyes, the worry lines around her mouth and the small scratch by her eye that she isn’t sure how she got. Truly, she looks pitiful, and she detests that Emma will probably see through whatever mask to attempts to put on.

 

“You okay?”

 

_Think of the devil._

 

She glances over her shoulder through the mirror and tries to smile at Emma, who’s in the doorway behind her. It ends up looking more like a grimace. “I’m alright, dear.”

 

“Dear... not darling.” Emma states knowingly as she takes a step forward. “Now I know something’s wrong.”

 

Regina’s eyes shut, unable to look at her lover. “Last night and this morning... it was delightful. I don’t wish to ruin it.”

 

Regina feels gentle palms sliding over her abdomen in a loose hug and small but quick puffs of warm breath against her neck. “I’m not him.”

 

Regina flinches at the words, hating that the blonde could ever think she’d think her capable of being like Leopold, but Emma leans in to kiss that sensitive spot by her ear. She shivers and Emma presses her nose against her clammy neck.

 

“I won’t get upset if you’re sad or angry— _or anything._ I won’t punish you for feeling. I’m not him... I’m not Leo or Cora, who’s a real piece of work, by the way. If you’re upset, I want nothing more than to be here for you, in whatever capacity you need. I don’t want the mask.” Regina turns slightly and melts into Emma’s torso, her eyes still firmly closed. Emma burrows her face in Regina’s still wet hair. “I want you, warts and all.“ Regina jerks back, glares at her, and Emma sputters, “It’s just a turn of phrase!”

 

A tentative smirk pulls at Regina’s lips and Emma snorts, mumbling a quiet “ _asshole_ ” under her breath.

 

The relaxed atmosphere drains away quickly though and Regina actually feels like she wants to confide in the blonde.

 

“I remember being eight years old and thinking that life wasn’t worth living. _Eight years old._ And now this marriage is suffocating me and my mother is pining me down and I can’t _breathe_ !” Emma’s spine straightens but her arms stay firmly around the brunette as she continues to speak, “When I’m with you, the hands loosen just a bit, sometimes enough to forget they’re there for a while, but that’s not enough, because the hands _are_ still wrapped around my throat, waiting to tighten.”

 

Regina pauses to wipe angrily at her eyes then says, “I feel so many things so deeply and it’s tearing me apart because most of those things are utterly miserable. I just want to be _happy_. If I could just have last night every night—“

 

“It still wouldn’t be enough, Regina.” Emma interrupts and her eyes are glassy when Regina finally looks at her. “You aren’t happy with your childhood, or with your mom, or with your dad’s illness, or your marriage. And even if you ran away with me, you’d still carry that with you.”

 

“Well, thanks for the hope speech—“

 

“Reflection, Regina. Therapy. That’s the hope.” Emma grins when Regina rolls her eyes. “You need to talk to someone that’s objective, vent, get angry and sad, do yoga or meditation or whatever hippy thing is in now, and, if it comes down to it, maybe try medication. I can’t fix everything. Our relationship can’t fix it. Only you can but I’m here to support you through it.”

 

Every instinct drilled into her by her controlling mother wants to lash out at the idea of going to counseling. She can hear Cora now, calling her weak for even considering it. So lost in thought, she doesn’t notice when she accidentally murmurs, “Therapy...”

 

“Yeah, I know. People are sometimes skeptical or whatever, but I went for a while a few years ago... after prison.” _After losing my son._ “It really helped me get through.”

 

Regina nods but it’s mostly to put an end to this conversation, even though she is filing away every tidbit of information Emma reveals about herself. It’s irrational but she fears telling a total stranger about what’s causing her melancholy, even if that stranger is bound by law to keep their mouth shut. But if Emma thinks it can help, perhaps it’s worth fighting through the anxiety.

 

Truthfully, just speaking with Emma about her sudden sadness has helped already. She still feels like she’s seconds away from tears but she can breathe.

 

The blonde pulls her out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where all the ingredients are already set out and grouped by dish.

 

Regina gapes at the center island and hears a smug chuckle from beside her. “I told you I’m a sous chef.”

 

“Consider yourself promoted.” Regina snarks. Beneath the outward amusement, she really is quite impressed with the blonde. She’d printed the recipes from the Christmas special of _On The Dinner Table_ a few days ago to try them but never expected Emma to be so hands-on and enthusiastic about it.

 

“You underestimate me, Mills! I produce a cooking show, after all.” Emma shrugs, her arms crossed and her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Some would say that makes me an expert.”

 

“ _Some_ would be wrong.”

 

Emma guffaws, turns to face Regina, then starts walking backwards with her arms out. “You watch! I’m gonna bang out this Christmas dinner with so much finesse—“ Emma’s hand flies into the empty pot on the counter and sends it clattering to the marble floor. She jumps away guiltily while Regina covers her mouth to trap a laugh. Emma grimaces, “...Starting now.”

 

They work together to take the ham out of its plastic packaging, pat it dry, and coat it in light seasoning before shoving it into the oven at high heat then mix together the honey glaze that’ll be lathered onto the pork periodically as it bakes.

 

Once that’s done, Regina tries to teach Emma how to peel potatoes without slicing her finger, which isn’t really successful and ends with Emma being delegated to doing mise en place. Her knife skills aren’t perfect—the carrots vary too much on width and the onions are different and irregular shapes—but they’re passable. Emma cringes at the sight of brussels sprouts and refuses to touch them.

 

“They’re gross, Regina.”

 

“Or you’re just a child, Emma.”

 

Emma sneers at every vegetable in sight and amuses Regina so much that it lifts her spirits. She nearly forgets again and it’s nice. She can almost pretend they’re alone, that no belligerent husband or bratty stepdaughter is coming home, that they’re going to sit in front of the fireplace and enjoy a home cooked meal then exchanged presents at midnight like her father used to do with her.

 

It’s easy to forget when Emma is dipping her finger in the honey glaze and sucking it off then moaning her approval. With Emma, it’s easy, easy, easy.

 

“Wash your hands, you charlatan. Don’t contaminate my glaze with your fluids.” Regina says as she tugs that container full of the liquid away from Emma’s greedy paws.

 

“Regina! I’m hungry!” Emma whines, nearly stomping her foot childishly. But then those damn eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “And I thought you liked my _fluids_?”

 

Regina snorts but she’s blushing and internally damning this blonde for having such control over her. Emma shuffles over to the sink and washes her hands though, so she just goes about dropping the peeled and freshly rinsed potatoes into boiling water. Her face doesn’t lose its red tint until she opens the refrigerator in search of the butter and sour cream needed for the mashed potatoes and let’s the chilled air cool her down.

 

While she fans herself with the refrigerator door, she tells Emma to glaze the pork and winces when she sees her pinky graze against the scorching roasting pan. Emma hisses and shoves her affected finger into her mouth, sucking on the heated skin. Luckily she hadn’t been pulling the pork out of the oven or her ham would’ve decorated the tile.

 

She quickly grabs the sour cream and butter then pops open the freezer to get a chilled ice pack. The oven door is shut before Regina  pulls Emma’s finger from her mouth and studies the light red skin with a grimace. “Here, let’s put some ice on it. I have Alocane or we could put some toothpaste?”

 

Emma presses the ice pack to her pinky awkwardly and sheepishly stares at the brunette. She’s just relieved to only find concern and affection in those brown eyes. “So, uh, impressed with my finesse yet?”

 

Regina’s shoulders shake and there’s way too much amusement in her voice when she mutters a soft _“idiot”_ under her breath.

 

Their hands are still entwined and they’re so close to one another that each breath causes their breasts to brush. Suddenly her finger doesn’t hurt much. Regina’s hands leave hers to glide up her forearms, over her muscular biceps, and curl around her neck, her nails scratching at the small ridges by her hairline on the nape.

 

Their lips caress tenderly as Regina jokes, “You’re a hazard in the kitchen, Miss Swan—”

 

“ _Pfft_!”

 

“—A true danger to not only yourself but to me and my perfectly innocent vegetables.”

 

“ _Jerk_ .” Emma’s fingers press against the sensitive spot on her ribcage and Regina barely stifles a girlish giggle. This blonde has turned her into a school girl. _“_ Just wait until my grilled cheese has you weak at the knees!”

 

Regina smirks as Emma winks exaggeratedly. Just as Emma starts to lean in to kiss the smirk off Regina’s face, they‘re startled by a clearing of the throat from the doorway and whip around to see Snow standing there, watching them with a curious gaze and tense shoulders.

 

“We just got home.” She says. Her voice is tinted with enough awkwardness to make Regina pull away from Emma and turn back to the oven to finally glaze the ham. As she uses the brush to coat the pork, Snow moves to stand closer to Emma but she’s staring at the carrots on the chopping board. “He’s going to lay down until dinner... still feels a bit dizzy and disoriented.”

 

Which is _good_ , if you ask Emma. A Christmas with less Leo is always welcome. But Snow’s next words are like a punch to the gut.

 

“He wants to speak with you, Regina.”

 

The brunette freezes and tenses for a moment. To Snow, it isn’t noticeable. To Emma, it’s obvious. But Regina shakes it off quickly and nods before starting to walk away. Emma looks ready to protest but a swift glare from Regina stops her from speaking.

 

From the moment she tossed the bastard, she knew she’d have to face the music eventually. Delaying the inevitable would only make things worse.

 

But that doesn’t make the trek upstairs any less terrifying. She has no idea how he’ll react. Is he angry? Is he livid? Will he punish her for her insubordination?

 

She quietly shuffles into the bedroom then shifts nervously from foot to foot when she sees him lying in bed, his eyes closed and his hands rubbing at his temples. She already feels so much hatred simmering beneath her skin for this man but she exhales deeply and reigns it in. Giving him attitude will only draw this out.

 

“Regina...” She hears from across the room and startles when she realizes he’s pining her with an unreadable look.

 

“Leopold.” She greets and the chilliness in her voice cuts through the tension.

 

He grunts as he sits up, wiggling his head like the movement caused a dizzy spell and closing his eyes again. The lack of fire in his posture should lessen her anxiety but she can’t let her guard down. He has a tendency of seeming perfectly fine then flying off the handle, so she stays rooted to her spot in the doorway, doesn’t make any moves to help alleviate his discomfort, and stays alert.

 

Finally his eyes fly open and study her, and something he sees causes him to deflate even more, which is utterly baffling to Regina. She expected acidic words and more bruises, not whatever this is. She crosses her arms defensively when sighs.

 

“I’m _sorry,_ Regina.” Her eyes widen at that and he smiles tightly, perhaps tinted with sadness or remorse... if she thought him capable of such emotion. He heaves a shaky exhale, “Look at you.”

 

A burst of hot red anger floods her veins, because how dare he act like this was a one-off situation. He always treated her like an object he could manhandle, albeit never to the extreme of the other night.

 

“This isn’t the man I wanted to be.” He slides closer to the edge of the bed and let’s his legs hang off but doesn’t attempt to stand. He grabs the frame from his nightstand. A picture of him and his first wife. He runs his thumb across the glass separating him from the photo and mumbles, “If Eva saw me now, she’d... _lord_.”

 

The scathing remarks on the tip of her tongue are swallowed. It’s not worth the trouble. He’s not worth anything.

 

“I woke up in the hospital this morning and the first thing I thought about was the bottle of whiskey in my office.” He says it like it’s a grand revelation, like his excessive drinking hasn’t been noticeable, and Regina’s muscles ache with how tense she is. “With my job being so demanding and... and other stressors hanging over my head, I turned to alcohol and I shouldn’t have. This morning... I promised Snow I would stop. I thought you should know.”

 

She nods tersely, but she wants to reach out and wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze until he’s no longer breathing. Even before he started drinking heavily, he always grabbed her, pushed her, threw verbal barbs that left scars, and to hear him act like the alcohol is to blame is infuriating.

 

She bites the inside of her cheek before she chokes out, “I should get back before our dinner burns.”

 

He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, probably because he isn’t used to repenting. Though she has a sneaky suspicion this is somehow Snow’s doing. Perhaps the girl isn’t as much of an airhead as she thought.  

 

Still, he lets her go without another word.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the kitchen gets a bit lighter once Regina struts out but Emma has no idea what to say to her friend. So much has happened. Luckily, Snow does it for her.

 

“Em, I’m sorry.” She doesn’t expect _that_ though. Snow smiles sadly at the shock on Emma’s face and steps closer. “I have been selfish. I could blame my father or my mother or my upbringing, but it’s my fault. I see that now. I don’t... I _don’t_ want to end up like _him_.”

 

 _“_ You _aren’t_ , Snow!” Emma closes the distance and grabs the young brunette by the shoulders. “You’re selfish sometimes, sure, but you are not like him.”

 

“Not yet, no.” Snow concedes. “But if I keep going... I’ll start thinking I’m entitled to everything. Like a stepford stepmother that doesn’t complain or give me attitude.” She scoffs, her eyes wet, “I don’t know how to be different but I need to do it, Emma. I need... help, and I know it’s terrible of me to ask for it—“

 

“Hey, no one has a manual on being selfless, but I‘ll clue you in from now on when you’re being an asshole. How’s that?” Emma smiles and the clear forgiveness Snow sees in emerald eyes has a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

She nods as she gratefully mutters, “Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Emma—“

 

“Don’t mention it.” Emma pulls her into a hug and whispers into her ear, “What’re friends for?”

 

That’s how Regina finds them when she steps back into the kitchen. Emma sees her first and beams, giving her a thumbs up from the hand wrapped around Snow’s back. Then she notices how tense Regina seems with her back ramrod straight and her eyes darting back and forth between the two embracing friends and the ingredients splayed across the marble island.

 

Snow pulls away when she sees Regina’s reflection in the kitchen window over the sink and clears her throat. “I’m just going to go upstairs and sit by his bedside. I have to wake him up every hour.” She directs her final words to Emma with a quirked brow, “Let me know when it’s time to eat?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Emma says and Snow leaves quickly with one last knowing glance.

 

Before Snow’s shadow is even out of view, Regina murmurs, “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

 

Which is her right, but her dark demeanor and quiet mumbling worries the blonde. Still, she’s learned to respect Regina’s boundaries. Emma once, several months ago, pushed for more information on Regina’s relationship with Cora and ended up pleading to a dial tone and dealing with a cold shoulder for a good twenty-four hours.

 

“Whatever you need, Regina.” She states sincerely. Her only acknowledgment is a hurried glance and a brush of tan fingers over the small of her back as Regina passes her to take the potatoes off the heat and drain the water from the pot.

 

They work silently after that. There’s no witty banter or humor, just Regina mechanically teaching Emma how to mash potatoes and incorporate the perfect amount of butter and sour cream to the starch. She fights every instinct to not swipe her finger through the creamy mixture but it’s for nought since Regina gets a spoonful of it and brings it to Emma’s lips, who lets out an embarrassing moan when she tastes it. It’s the only item in this meal plan that isn’t from _On The Dinner Table_ and she’s thoroughly enjoying it.

 

The ham gets glazed a few more times, but while it roasts and gets nice and juicy, Regina works on garlicky green beans and some vegetable casserole. At this point, Emma checks out a little. Vegetables aren’t her thing, never have been. They’re too bland and boring... _like Robin Hood_ , she thinks derisively.

 

She perks back up when she notices the appearance of flour, sugar, and butter. Just the mere possibility of dessert has her out of her stool and leaning against Regina’s back as the older woman mixes the flour with the salt and sugar.

 

“It’s like a Pavlovian response,” Regina finally— _finally_ —cracks a smirk, “you and unhealthy foods.”

 

“What can I say? I have to keep up my figure.” Emma deadpans as pops out her belly as far as she can, which isn’t much considering she’s all hard angles and muscle.

 

Still, it makes Regina cackle like a witch so she considers it a success.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is awkward, more so than usual. Leopold is silent and, surprisingly, the lack of long winded, self-centered stories actually make everything worse. Snow looks uncomfortable as she scrapes her fork across her plate with no intention of eating. The scraping of his mother’s fine china makes Leo flinch. Regina eats quietly and avoids making eye contact with anyone, including her lover. Emma, meanwhile, tries to inhale all the food on the table, which isn’t hard considering Regina is one of the best cooks she’s ever seen.

 

Her barrage of compliments about the food become ridiculous. She’s starting to sound like a wannabe foodie.

 

_“The potatoes are so creamy!”_

 

_“The ham is sweet yet salty! Such an interesting flavor palette!”_

 

 _“The vegetables are sautéed beautifully! A nice little char, enough to get some smokiness! Just,_ ” Emma punctuates the sentiment by curling her fingers to touch her bent thumb and kissing the point where they meet, like she’s _Bobby-fucking-Flay_.

 

Regina obviously finds her idiocy hysterical but manages to bite her lip and keep the laughter inside her lungs where it belongs at the moment. Leo’s glaring at the side of her head with enough intensity to set her hair on fire.

 

Snow seems to think it’s helping the tension in the room and finally plops some ham into her mouth and smacks her lips obnoxiously. “Yes, the food is divine, Regina. You’ve outdone yourself!”

 

Snow pointedly scoops up some mashed potato, practically swallows it all in one fell swoop and chokes on a small chunk of potato. She coughs repeatedly until Emma karate chops her back. Snow lurches forward and sends a clump of chewed up potato straight into her father’s face.

 

It’s the best fucking Christmas present Emma’s ever gotten.

 

Especially because Leo decides to go shower then call it a night, citing dizziness as the cause of his early departure. Emma thinks he feels guilty sitting at a table with the woman he victimized and two others that know what he did but Regina knows it’s nothing of the sort. Leopold White doesn’t feel guilty. His apology tour this morning has nothing to do with a guilty conscience and all to do with his reputation.

 

He must’ve been so embarrassed when Snow told the doctors he’d taken a dive and hurt himself. He’d _fallen and couldn’t get up._ This is his way of trying to keep the situation contained as much as possible. As long as he plays the victim and seems repentant, he believes Regina will cool down and keep her mouth shut.

 

“Are you storing the leftovers, Regina?” Snow asks as they carry the platters of food back into the kitchen and set them on the marble island.

 

“Yes, dear. I usually take them to the homeless shelters potluck event that’s hosted on Christmas Day.” Regina mentions casually but Snow stares at her stepmother, shocked and awed at the new piece of information.

 

“That’s... that’s wonderful.” Snow compliments but her voice is so hushed by astonishment that Regina doesn’t hear her over the rushing sink water. Emma does though and can’t help but wonder if the relationship between her friend and the woman she loves still has a chance.

 

They pack the leftovers into clean Tupperware and Regina, being the neat freak she is, labels each container and stacks them by size into a box she sends Emma to retrieve from the garage.

 

The air isn’t awkward anymore, probably because Emma keeps making jokes and both brunettes chuckle accordingly but otherwise avoid each other. Well... avoid each other as much as one can while being in the same room.

 

When Regina starts folding the flaps of the cardboard box over each other to secure the containers inside, Snow clears her throat and glances at the two of them standing side by side. “I’m pretty exhausted, so I’m heading up. But, uh, I brought home some hot chocolate earlier...” Snow wrings her hands together nervously and shuffles on her feet, “It’d be shame if no one got to enjoy it in front of the fire with that snow storm raging outside...”

 

With that said, she turns on her heels and races up the steps. A soft snort sounds from beside her and Emma smiles just hearing it.

 

“Did she just _parent trap_ us?” Regina’s chuckle is slashed by a quiet whimper and Emma whips her gaze around as the brunette drops the cardboard box back onto the counter and holds her injured wrist in her other hand.

 

“Hey, take it easy,” Emma scolds in a knee jerk reaction that receives a glare dark enough to make her lift her arms in surrender. She points to the box, “Where do you want this?”

 

“Just leave it by the front door. I usually drive it to the shelter before anyone else wakes up.”

 

Emma lugs the box to the foyer and sits it against the wall by the coat rack. With a parting glance, she makes her back toward the woman that keeps surprising her. Regina always seemed like such a straightforward person but to go to such lengths to keep a good deed from the Leo and Snow? It was strange, almost as if the brunette thought such kindness was a weakness. Though with Cora, she could absolutely see a lesson about selfishness being the path to success being drilled into her. Maybe Regina wanted to keep the cold, aloof image she built firmly in place around those that didn’t deserve her kindness.

 

No matter the case, this solidifies one thing only: Regina Mills is truly a softie and has a heart too big for comprehension. She does something lovely each Christmas, and most likely each Thanksgiving as well, and keeps it quiet. She doesn’t look for praise or for thanks. She simply wants to help.

 

Emma spent some time in homeless shelters as a runaway foster kid and she saw firsthand how any small kindness went such a long way for the men and women that resided there and for the volunteers keeping the places running. Hell, when she volunteered during Thanksgiving, everyone thanked her incessantly and made her feel welcome. Emma smiles as she thinks about a future where she and Regina can make a difference, though Regina would argue Emma already makes a difference through her work.

 

The kitchen is empty when she checks so she goes toward the living room and finds Regina sitting on the sofa, two mugs of hot cocoa on the side table with the fireplace lit and the light of the flames sparkling on the white ornaments hanging on the tree. She walks toward the couch to join her and smiles when she sees the container of cinnamon next to the mugs.

 

Regina must realize she’s noticed because she quietly says, “I wasn’t sure how much you usually put...”

 

“I like to add as I go, so this is perfect. Thanks.” Emma plops down next to Regina and automatically drapes her arm over the back of the couch to massage Regina’s neck. With her other hand, she pulls a small velvet box from the pocket of the knit sweater she put on for dinner.

 

“So, uh, I know we didn’t talk about gifts but,” Emma holds out the jewelry box and Regina stares at it, her eyes wet and the skin at the crease of her eyes crinkling, “I got you this. I was hoping to get a moment alone with you either today or tomorrow so this worked out perfectly.”

 

Regina doesn’t take her eyes off of the gift as she informs her, “It was a family tradition on my father’s side to feast on Christmas Eve and stay up until midnight to exchange and open presents. When I was a child, my mother never placed much importance on Christmas Eve, so she’d go to bed early, and my father would stay up with me. We’d sit in the living room, talking about anything and everything, and when the clock struck midnight, we’d exchange the gifts we got for each other. It was special, like he was sharing a piece of his heritage— _our heritage_ —with me. _”_

 

Emma’s hand stops massaging to curl around Regina’s shoulder and pull the brunette against her. “I love that.”

 

“Perhaps,” Regina pulls back to nuzzle their noses, her eyes slipping closed, “it could become _our_ tradition. To bring a piece of my father with us.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma beams at the prospect of having a tradition and a family as she lifts her gift back up between them and wiggles it beseechingly.

 

Regina holds up a finger then jogs out of the living room, leaving a confused Emma staring at the doorway she just disappeared through. She comes back with a hefty box that’s about the size of a soccer ball balanced on her forearms to avoid a repeat of earlier then sets it down gently on the couch space between them.

 

Putting aside her childlike excitement that wants to rip open her gift, she hands the long, thin jewelry box to Regina with a patient smile. “You first?”

 

Regina swallows her sudden nerves and runs her fingers over the silky blue velvet before slowly pulling the top portion up to reveal a silver necklace with a circular pendant. A tree silhouette with long, interweaving branches that connect to the outer circle is carved out in the silver. It immediately reminds her of—

 

“You once told me about your apple tree and... I don’t know, it sounded so important to you and to your dad. It’s your thing together—tending to that tree—and I thought maybe wearing it would help you see that he’s always with you, you know?” Emma explains, her eyes darting from Regina fingers caressing the pendant to those suspiciously wet brown eyes she could drown in if she allowed herself to. The silence drags on for so long that she starts to wring her hands. “You hate it...”

 

“No!” Regina snaps, then softens when she sees how anxious her lover is and reaches over to clasp Emma’s clammy hand in her own. She stutters, “No, Emma. I just can’t believe you remembered and—I think this is _perfect_. This _is_ perfect.”

 

The response isn’t measured or perfectly crafted. It makes Emma’s heart stumble through several beats because Regina is always so put together and wordy, so to see her thrown off and emotional has her realizing that she did good. This gift meant something to Regina.

 

“The guy at the jewelry store said its real silver and everything!” Emma boasts proudly, which makes Regina chuckle as she tries to unclasp the necklace.

 

Emma takes it from her shaking hands and easily unclips the clasp then gestures for Regina to turn around so she can slip it around her neck and fasten it. Regina turns back and Emma marvels at the beauty of this woman. Her dark hair is almost iridescent in warm lighting, those brown eyes are wide open and emoting so fiercely, those lips are pulled into a smile so loving Emma feels her own heart skip a beat, and the necklace contrasts perfectly with her olive skin of Regina’s chest and neck. In that moment, Emma Swan feels like the luckiest woman in the world despite it all.

 

Her train of thought is instantly derailed when Regina scoots closer and places the medium sized box wrapped in red decorative paper on her lap. She gives into the instinct from earlier and tears through the package gleefully. She freezes when she realizes what she’s holding.

 

“Holy shit.” Emma murmurs, blinking way too quickly like she thinks she’s hallucinating. In her hands is a bulky professional camera with two different lenses and a sleek black carrying case that Emma knows costs at least five hundred dollars. Suddenly the fifty bucks she spent on that tree of life necklace feels wholly inadequate. “Regina, I can’t take this. This is too much—“

 

“I want you to have it.” Regina cajoles, “I have more money than I know what to do with—usually, anyway. But when I heard the passion in your voice when you told about photography and how much you miss it, I knew I could do this for you. Please, Emma, take it.”

 

Emma still feels a niggling guilt in the back of her mind. She tries to push it away, knowing it’s not really necessary to feel such a way when her lover expressed her desire for Emma to have the camera but also acknowledging that the only reason Regina is able to afford such a gift is through her misery. But Regina’s staring at her anxiously so she just pulls her into a quick kiss that wipes away any negativity and reminds them that this night is solely about them. No one else.

 

When they break apart, Emma searches through the box for the charging cable and quickly stands to plug the battery pack into the wall socket then drops back into her spot on the couch. Emma leans in to place a sweet peck to the top of Regina’s nose.

 

“You should be my first subject.” Emma winks, “Ever posed nude, Miss Mills?”

 

Regina pinches Emma’s side, making the blonde practically fall off the couch, and laughs and laughs until Emma shuts her up with a sound kiss.

 

She never says she won’t pose though, which Emma will most certainly remember for future reference.

 

* * *

 

“Everything packed?” Snow asks as she sits on the guest bed and watches Emma toss her worn clothes into a plastic bag and ties the handles together with a yank.

 

“Yeah, only left out the clothes I’m wearing for the trip and the toiletries I’ll need when I wake up tomorrow morning.”

 

“Good, same here.” Snow nods absentmindedly. “I wanted to just check in and make sure you’re still alright with me staying at your apartment for a few days?”

 

Emma drops the plastic bag with her dirty clothes into the suitcase and presses the toe of her boot against it until it’s practically flat and she can zip the lid shut without struggle. “Sure, of course.” Emma quirks her brow, “Though I’m kind of miffed you won’t tell me about this mysterious dude you’re totally head over heels for.”

 

Snow wags her finger and balks, “First off, I’m not _in love_ with him. I met him two weeks ago—“

 

“Matters of the heart have no time table, Snow White.” Emma interjects sarcastically, which receives a heated glare.

 

“ _Secondly_ , you probably know him since he works for daddy and I have no interest in opening that particular can of worms.”

 

“Now wait...” Emma’s eyes pop open in disbelief, “You haven’t asked him what he does?!”

 

“I—He never said anything!”

 

A frustrated groan slips out of Emma’s mouth. “Snow, do you remember the conversation we had yesterday? The one where I’d tell you when you’re being an asshole?”

 

“Yes—“

 

“You’re being an asshole.” She ignores Snow’s indignant squawk. “You’ve been talking to this guy for two weeks and you’ve basically only talked about yourself, haven’t you?”

 

“That’s is _not_ true!”

 

“Tell me three facts about him right now— _put down the phone! That is cheating!_ ”

 

“Alright! I’ll admit things have been centered on me, but that’s only because my life has been in flux since I met David. That isn’t my fault!” Snow blanches at Emma’s pointed glare. “It’s my fault? Oh my god, this is the entitled thing again!”

 

“Relax, just ask him about himself, like his job or hobbies or something. He’s obviously into you if he’s happily put up with _this,_ ” Emma points at Snow, who’s now pacing the length of the bed nervously. “He’s been messaging you nonstop, Snow. It’s obviously fine. Just take an interest in his stuff from here on out, that’s all.”

 

“Who is Snow taking an interest in?” Regina struts into the room with her smirk already in place and Snow covers her face with her hands, groaning for a full ten seconds while Regina cackles.

 

“Snow has a secret boyfriend.” Emma informs her.

 

“Not really a secret anymore.” Snow mumbles through her spread out fingers. She drags her hands down her face then glares at a smug Regina leaning on the door jamb. “Can we go back to the cold shoulder? I’m not sure this truce is working out well.”

 

Regina snorts in the steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands.

 

“You know, I think you’ve been going about this torturing Snow thing all wrong, Mills.” Emma says as she lifts her suitcase to sit upright. “Especially when she’s so easy to embarrass.”

 

“I rescind my decision to be accepting of you two.” Snow’s smiling as she says it though. She stands and gives them a knowing look, “I’m going to check on daddy. I’ll be back in approximately ten minutes.”

 

She playfully pushes past Regina in the doorway and gives them some much needed alone time. After they’d exchanged gifts the night before, they cuddled in front of the fire, kissed, and shared happy memories with one another.

 

Christmas morning, however, was long and tedious. They watched Snow open at least ten gifts then be lead outside where a new car sat in the driveway, one that was absolutely unnecessary since the one she has runs like a dream. Leo got Regina a new searing pan with no-stick technology and made half-hearted comments about how he knows she enjoys cooking. Snow gave Leo a new and ridiculously expensive gold Rolex and some fancy ties while Regina got him golf balls with Snow’s face on them, which made the younger brunette scowl.

 

_“I bought them before the truce. Don’t look at me like that.”_

 

Leo loved them. _“It’ll be like my princess is on the green with me.”_

 

Unexpectedly, Snow handed Emma a gift once everyone else had finished opening their own. It was a nice brown leather jacket with top of the line wool inside.

 

_“You wear that red jacket all the time and I doubt it keeps you warm during these months!”_

 

And honestly, Emma loved it. She could never have too many leather jackets, even if her trusty red one would always have a special place in her heart.

 

“You look pensive, which is dangerous.”

 

Emma blinks back to the present and smiles at her lover, who moved from the doorway to sit primly on the corner of the bed closest to her.

 

“I was just thinking about this morning. Despite Leo being around, it was nice.”

 

Christmas morning never meant gift exchanges, hot cocoa, and gathering around the tree. It was lackluster and never anything special. She did have one foster family that went through the trouble of asking her social worker about a gift option since they did Toys for Tots collections every year. She was handed a cheap toy race car that must’ve cost less than five bucks at the local dollar store but they made her pancakes and didn’t smack her once so it was definitely a highlight.

 

But now, she knows she can have more than that. She can have more than a solo breakfast in her cold apartment. She can have Regina, a fireplace, meaningful gifts, _love_. She knows she could have it every year, but life doesn’t always work that way, especially not for people like her.

 

Regina nods, the smile on her lips not quite sincere as she asks, “When are you leaving?”

 

“Oh, uh,” Emma glances at her suitcase and rubs the nape of her neck, “in a few hours. Snow has to meet with some government dude in New York tomorrow and I’ve got a commercial lined up for this weekend.”

 

Emma sighs dejectedly and goes to sit next to Regina on the bed, her hand resting comfortably on her toned thigh. Regina’s smile is a bit more genuine but it’s riddled with sadness and anxiety. Emma grips Regina’s chin with he curled pointer finger and jokingly shakes her head from side to side, eliciting a soft chuckle. “It’ll be okay, you know. I’ll call everyday, fill you in on all the gossip, bombard you with stories of Bridezilla Mulan...”

 

“I’ll still miss you, I think.” Regina whispers through quivering lips. Her tanned hand reaches up to grip Emma’s and press the palm against her own blushing cheek. “Now that you’ve touched me, I just...”

 

“I know.” Emma strokes her thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Me too.”

 

Regina shakes her head and tries to sound positive, “On the bright side, I’ll finally get new episodes of my favorite show.”

 

* * *

 

The car ride back home is solemn. Snow quickly realizes that when Emma doesn’t even react to that Mariah Carey song and instead keeps her glazed over gaze toward the trees lining the side of the highway.

 

Despite how positive Emma tried to sound when she was alone with Regina hours earlier, actually leaving took so much out of her. She had no idea when she’ll see the woman she loves again. Luckily, Snow doesn’t try to cheer her up or make her talk. She does try playing Vivaldi to shut out the silence but Emma’s shoulders start to shake and she immediately realizes that her love for that genre comes from her stepmother and promptly turns it off.

 

When they reach Emma’s apartment, it‘s nearly midnight. The rooms are frozen since Emma turned off all the heating before leaving to save on energy costs. They keep their coats on until the heat kicks in, which only takes about ten minutes despite living in such a rickety building.  

 

“Cocoa?” Snow asks and receives a tentative nod. She pulls the milk jug from the refrigerator and searches for a container of Yahoo. Snow hates the powder but it’s Emma’s favorite, especially when there’s enough chocolate to turn the mixture a dark brown.

 

Just as she finds the cocoa mix, Emma slides onto the stool in front of the small island and props her chin on the back of her hand. She waits. Then, “I miss her.”

 

_There it is._

 

“I know. You haven’t been subtle, Em.” Snow jokes as she pours the cold milk into a small saucepan and turns on the right burner on the stove top. “I don’t know what to say to help. So why don’t you just tell me how it happened? I think I could take some pointers from you, Casanova.”

 

* * *

 

When the door shuts behind Snow and Emma, Regina expects the usual song and dance. She expects him to lash out, to yell, to drag her upstairs, but he does none of those. He strays from his pattern by just spinning on his heel without making eye contact and locking himself in his office.

 

If she wasn’t so upset about Emma’s departure, she might pay more attention to his skulking and try to analyze what he‘s playing at. But she is upset, so she changes into her pajamas and cries into her pillow.

 

Leopold never comes to bed and Regina subconsciously releases a sigh of relief as midnight flies by and he stays absent.

 

Avoidance. _Good_ , she thinks. Avoidance is good.

 

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to her, Leopold is downstairs in his office, sitting behind his oak desk, his phone plastered to his ear and a dark, conspiratorial voice whispering to him.

 

“That Swan girl is more trouble than she’s worth, Leopold.”

 

He chucks off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, pointedly ignoring the stocked liquor cart on the other side of the office. “That’s a gross exaggeration. She’s repugnant and an insubordinate imbecile but she’s also unimportant. More like a mosquito than anything else. I think you give her too much credit.”

 

“And I think you give her too little. Mosquitoes spread disease, after all.”

 

He swallows roughly. “Spit it out, Cora.”

 

“I simply don’t want that wretched girl putting thoughts in my daughter’s head.” She growls lowly and Leo starts reaching for his bottle of Advil in the upper left drawer of his desk.

 

“Your daughter barely spent any time with her—“

 

A smug laugh interrupts him, which causes so much irritation to bubble up that his hand practically crushes the plastic pill bottle in his hand. Cora ends the laugh with a pitying sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Leo. That girl was here, in my home, with my _darling_ husband and daughter. They looked quite chummy.”

 

He freezes at that. “They were—“

 

“Together. Here. And they seemed well acquainted.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Leo asks, bewildered and frustrated. There’s nothing he loathes more than looking like a fool.

 

“Because we have a deal!” Cora snaps. “And if Regina gets any wild ideas, our arrangement will be unbalanced.” Her voice turns sickly sweet, “I’m truly looking out for your best interests, dear.”

 

“Cora, I needed a babysitter once but Snow is grown now. You have what you wanted. It’s not as if I could take you down without incriminating myself. You could still be mayor and live in that mansion and I could use the money I pay you for a damn butler.” He glares at a sheen of dust gathering by his desktop mouse, “God knows I need someone actually qualified.”

 

He hears her sigh like she’s disappointed he can’t keep up.

 

“Do you recall how much flak you received when you married my daughter?” Of _course_ he does, but her questions are almost always rhetorical. Cora likes to hear herself talk, so he doesn’t interrupt. “Now imagine if it got out that your young trophy wife is having an affair with the woman that made you out to be a fool!”

 

He blinks as he loudly sputters, “An affair?!” The sentence rings across the first floor and he startles. He lowers his voice, “An affair? Cora, they just met this last week. I’m not sure what you think you saw but—“

 

“Do your own research then. Or don’t. I don’t quite care much. But we had a deal. You rig the mayoral election in my favor, funnel money to me monthly, and I mislead Regina into marrying you— _and_ keep my mouth shut—in exchange. I certainly enjoy this reputation we’ve both been able to build and maintain the last few years. I simply don’t want to see this house of cards get blown down, especially by some blonde bimbo.” She hisses, “Whatever is going on with that Swan girl, get it rectified! We _both_ have much to lose.”

 

Then her angry commands are replaced by a dial tone and Leo pops a handful of pills, way more than the recommended dosage.

 

The conversation is making him jumpy. With the FBI on his ass, the realization that he actually hired Robert Gold, publicly known for his real estate ventures but privately notorious for running a crime family based on the east coast, to tamper with voting machines to garner a win for Cora is nerve wracking. Then he thinks about the FBI and how thoroughly they’re combing through his laptop. Sidney claimed to removed all trace evidence of the deal but his secretary isn’t exactly a technology wizard.

 

Truthfully, keeping his head down seems like the logical choice, but his pride is bursting at the seams, needing answers.

 

Even though part of him wants to denounce this as lunacy, the thought of Regina having an affair isn’t startling, though it still boils his blood despite his own infidelity. But the thought of her sleeping with _that_ woman is unacceptable. It could tarnish his reputation, the prestige he’s accrued, it could hurt his daughter. _God, Snow_.

 

He pounds his fist against the desk with a growl. No, he will not be made the fool. Lately, Emma Swan has pulled the rights string to make him look like an idiot but _this_? To seduce his wife and try to make a mockery of him? No, he cannot allow that.

 

He tilts his head back against the chair’s headrest and stares at the white ceiling. Right above that plastered ceiling is their bedroom, where Regina is probably asleep, dreaming of god knows what— _who_.

 

He loathes being the fool.

 

Leo snatches his phone from where he dropped it onto the desk and clicks on a name on his favorites list. He brings the phone to his ear and eyes the liquor cart as the phone rings in his ear. He keeps staring at the whiskey decanter when the connection clicks and slightly concerned voice greets him.

 

“I know it’s late but...” He straightens his back and commands, “Sidney, there’s something I need you to look into.”

  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for domestic violence and physical harm. Again, you’ll sense it coming, so if you may be triggered, simply skip to the end!

_ To: Leopold White _

_ From: Sidney Glass _

_ Subject: Investigation _

 

_ Hello, sir. I have been digging into the matter we spoke about and haven’t found anything concrete yet. Those on set aren’t revealing much, but I did overhear a crew member teasing Miss Swan over a supposed girlfriend. I’m still waiting on the phone company to release the call log for Mrs. White’s cell phone. At first, they claimed they wouldn’t hand over any information unless it was needed for a legal matter but, as you said, money talks. After I sent them your generous donation, they changed their tune.  _

 

_ I will email you with updates as soon as I uncover more. Thank you, sir, for trusting me with such a personal task. I will not let you down. _

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere at the mansion is odd. It has been ever since Snow and Emma left a month ago.

 

Leo barely comes home, which isn’t really new, but now he doesn’t even show up for dinner. He doesn’t send her threatening emails, or complain about how dusty his window treatments in the office are, or make snide comments about Emma. Hell, he doesn’t even  _ look _ at her. 

 

For a while, she figures he’s still giving her the silent treatment and playing victim but that’s quickly disproven when she catches him casually sipping on some whiskey one night in the middle of January.

 

He hadn’t shown up to dinner so Regina went to bed right after cooking an older recipe from the show that she previous enjoyed, scarfing down a good portion, tossing the rest into a container that she left in the middle of the kitchen island in case Leo came home, then went to lay down in bed, scrolling through her social media and checking the news.

 

A few hours had passed when a loud bang and a sharp hiss startled her from the article she was reading and when she went to check it out, with the fireplace poker firmly in her hand, she found him stumbling around in his office with a glass hanging loosely from his fingers.

 

He saw her immediately and sucked his teeth disapprovingly. “ _ What? _ Don’t you see I’m busy?” 

 

His voice was slurred already and he reeked of alcohol. She assumed he came home, probably from a bar, drunk and decided to keep the party going. 

 

“I thought you promised Snow—“

 

“ _Don’t you dare—_ ” He tried to step closer to her but tripped over his own feet to land solidly against the guest chairs in front of his desk. He growled at the furniture like it was its fault then turned back to her. “I suggest,” He hiccuped, “you go back upstairs before I decide to remind you who you’re _married_ to.” 

 

It was an order she granted immediately. From then on, she avoided him just as fiercely. 

 

Overall, she can’t complain though. He hasn’t touched her and she’s barely heard his voice in over a month. His extended absences allow for more time on the phone with Emma, who starts calling every chance she gets.

 

Like  _ midnight _ on a  _ weekday _ .

 

“Are you actually falling asleep right now?” Emma asks incredulously, as if it isn’t late in the evening. 

 

Regina tries to sit up in bed as she blinks owlishly. She was starting to doze but, “No, of course not.”

 

“What was I saying?” 

 

“Well, you were,” Regina clears her throat and flails, “complaining about Robin?”

 

At any point in time, there was a fifty percent chance Emma was denouncing the scruffy man tasked with following her around. 

 

“Was that a question?” Emma snorts. “I talked about Robin like ten minutes ago.” 

 

“I’m sorry, Emma.” She groans, caught red-handed. “I was just resting my eyes.”

 

“ _ Uh huh _ . You sound tired. I can let you go?” Emma offers, but Regina shushes her immediately.

 

“Nonsense. What were you saying?” Regina straightens her spine to recline against the headboard and blinks rapidly to remove any desire to sleep. 

 

“I was gonna ask you if you know that little weasel Sidney Glass?” 

 

Regina quirks her brow. “Leo’s secretary? Yes, of course. I never liked him much. He’s very...”

 

“Slimy?”

 

“ _ Slimy _ , yes.” She recalls the time he came for dinner and followed her to the study when she excused herself and started shamelessly complimenting her. His eyes strayed to her cleavage all too often and consistently implied that he could provide just as much, if not more, than Leo could. She grimaces, “And delusional. Why?” 

 

“It’s probably nothing. He’s just been sniffing around on set a lot, asking people questions...” Emma sighs then repeats, “It’s probably nothing.”

 

Regina hums, not as convinced as Emma that Sidney isn’t up to something. The man never does anything without direct orders from Leopold. Still, she doesn’t voice these concerns. It’s most likely just another tactic her husband is using to psych Emma out, apparently with great success. 

 

“Just ignore him. Your crew is loyal to you,” Regina says, to which Emma grunts in agreement. “But speaking of the show—“

 

“No spoilers, Mills.” 

 

Tense silence. Then, “I will  _ destroy _ your happiness if it is the  _ last _ thing I do.”

 

“Oh, I’m _so_ scared.” Emma drawls dryly. Then a quiet snort comes through the line and Regina breaks, smiling into the cell phone screen. “I’m still not telling you anything. But, uh, the spring premiere? I want you to show it to your dad. Maybe you guys could watch it live together?”

 

The way she says it makes Regina think she’s being set up somehow. But Emma hardly ever asks for anything, so who is she to decline such a simple request? 

 

* * *

 

A week later, during the first few days of February, Regina shows up at her parents’ home right after dinner without even checking in with Leopold. Her mother’s car is in the driveway but the woman herself is nowhere to be found, which is a godsend. She also doesn’t make any moves to search for her. She’s there for one reason only and he lights up when he sees her walking into his room.

 

“Regina,  _ mija _ .” He smiles softly, as wide as his fatigue allows, and reaches out a tired hand to grab hers. “Didn’t expect you.”

 

“I’m sorry,  _ Papí _ . I usually don’t come by this late but your new best friend asked something of me that involves you and I just couldn’t decline.” She teases lightly, her voice gentle and even. 

 

Darkness comes so early during the winter months, so the room is already tinted in midnight blue with the television bringing some unnatural light. She bites her lip to keep from frowning at the visual before her. Her father looks so frail, pale, and weak, bathed in blue moonlight with a tired pull of his lips and closed eyes. The last month has been rough on him. His appetite is gone so he takes his medication on an empty stomach, which creates a whole new host of issues. He’s thin in a way Regina’s never seen. He loved food and always had a full belly, but he’s withered away to skin and bones. 

 

So many years fighting to live only to be left living a painful lifeless existence. This disease took so much from him but, thankfully, it never took his spirit. At least until now. 

 

“Emma...” He says. She nods, her eyes suddenly watering for a reason she can’t pinpoint. 

 

“Yes, Emma asked me to watch an episode of her show with you.” She explains quietly. The house is so eerily silent with the television on mute. 

 

Once he nods weakly, Regina snatches the remote from his side table and changes the channel to Enchanted, where a commercial for a cheesy fairytale drama series is playing. She checks her dainty watch and sighs when she notices that there’s still five minutes until eight o’clock. 

 

“Regina...” His voice, strong and lucid, jolts her out of her reverie and she gapes at the life she suddenly sees in his eyes. His smile is effortless this time. “She treats you well?”

 

She smiles, reaching over to clasp his fingers between her own. “Like a queen.”

 

“ _ Que bueno _ .” His words are sweet and gentle but there’s a hint of finality that makes her stomach drop. He forges on, “Mi niña... you are so special.” 

 

She swallows a disbelieving and derisive scoff, but she knows he expects it. Regina is the worst at accepting compliments and bad at goodbyes, and that will probably never change. 

 

Still, her head starts shaking without her consent and he huffs, “You will see,  _ mija _ . You’re going to change the world.” 

 

This time she does scoff, “Yes, with no education or credentials, no experience, no skills. I’m really going places.” He opens his mouth to argue but she beats him to it, pointing to the television, “Let’s not talk about this, okay? I made a promise I intend to keep.” 

 

He deflates and all his energy drains, and so much self-loathing floods her mind but she distracts herself by grabbing the remote, switching on the sound, and patiently waiting for the opening sequence of the episode Emma’s been so tight-lipped about. 

 

The show’s title scene—consisting of a worktop kitchen slab covered in chopped up ingredients with some carefully draped into the shape of a large tome with cute squiggly lines representing the recipes burned into the wood of the slab—swerves onto the screen.

 

“Look,  _ papí _ , it’s on.” She peers over at him quickly to check if he’s paying attention then informs him, “She said we inspired her.” 

 

She watches his lips pull into a bright smile, one she hasn’t seen in so long, and she whips around to see a young woman with beautiful caramel skin, black hair, and deep brown eyes on the television. She’s beaming at the audience, the small diamond on her nose glinting when her cheeks puff outward, and her eyes are shining.

 

“ _ Hola a todos!”  _ She says proudly, her accent smooth and natural, and  _ oh Emma _ . That beautiful idiot. The woman on screen repeats it in English with just as much precision, though she does speak it with a bit of an accent that makes her that much more lovable, then, “ _ I’m Ivelisse Medina and I’ll be your chef this evening!” _

 

Henry chuckles under his breath but Regina’s too mesmerized by the woman on screen to understand what he finds so humorous. 

 

“ _ I was born in Puerto Rico many moons ago—I won’t specify how many, I need to keep some things on the down low, you know—but my family all moved to New York City when I was young. Now, I’m no chef but I had a Latina for a mother so I can cook like one, that’s for sure!”  _ The charismatic brunette on screen smiles broadly and flips the ends of her hair over her shoulder. “ _ Speaking of my mamí, I’m going to show you how to cook her favorite meal _ . _ Ready to salivate over some pernil con arroz y gandules? Let’s get to it!” _

 

Father and daughter quietly watch as the young Hispanic woman slowly roasts the meaty, and quite large, pork shoulder in the oven and works on the rice and beans dish while the meat cooks. They grin at every adorable and well-told story the girl tells and Henry throws in small comments along the way. Regina discovers that her father used to eat  _ pernil _ all the time before he was married, that he used to cook it with his mother, and that he still misses the camaraderie he found in New York City among his fellow immigrants, especially those that spoke Spanish.  

 

Regina discovers that she misses the way the sounds and accents of her father’s language used to roll off her tongue, that she yearns to connect to this culture again, that she wishes Cora hadn’t insisted on erasing this part of her. 

 

Regina leans forward, her elbows propped on her knees and her chin resting on her fist, and practically salivates when the pork is taken out of the oven and showcased to the audience. Ivelisse spoons the rice and red beans into a small bowl then presses it down onto a flat plate, and when she lifts the bowl, an elegant tower of rice is decorating the center of the plate. She then shreds some pieces of pork and scatters it around the rice generously, until the plate’s design underneath is no longer visible.

 

Teasingly, she pulls out a bottle, similar to one of beer, of _Malta_ _Goya_ and untwists the cap before tilting it toward the camera in cheers. “ _Besos a todos! Hasta luego!_ ”

 

The scene fades to black and Regina mutes the television right before the commercial for Goya blasts through the speakers. 

 

She grins against her hand as she asks, “Well, Papí, what did you think? Should I give Emma our stamp of approval?”

 

She keeps her gaze on the silent commercial until the silence drags on too long. With a furrowed brow, she twists to see her father with his eyes closed and his lips pulled into a smile. She sighs. This must’ve been too much action for him at this stage of his illness. 

 

It’s when she reaches up to tuck his blanket under his body that she notices his chest isn’t rising and falling. Panicked, she jumps up out of her seat and lays her hand on his chest, right above where a heartbeat should be thumping.

 

It isn’t. 

 

_ “No.”  _ She whispers gruffly as one hand grips the fabric of his white, well-worn t-shirt and the other scrambles for his wrist. No pulse. “ _ No, no, no _ .”

 

Her knees give out, sending her torso flying into his, her head landing against his chest with a thump and her ear pressed against his cotton shirt. No pulse. “ _ Papí, no. No, please. No. This isn’t funny _ .”

 

Her hands scratch for purchase until they wrap around the back of his neck, her thumbs pressing against his carotid. “ _ No! No, I’m not ready, Papí. I’m not ready.” _

 

She chokes on a sob as her left hand balls into a fist and lightly pounds on his chest, right beside her prone head, “ _ Come back!” _

 

When he doesn’t move or breath or comfort her after a minute of her nonsensical maneuver, her hand stops hitting his chest and slithers up to cup his still-warm cheek. 

 

She stares at his smile until the night nurse finds her curled up against his dead body nearly twenty minutes later. 

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly ten at night when she gets the call. 

 

She’d spent hours nervously pacing around her apartment, eager and anxious to hear what Regina and Henry thought about the newest episode, which was greatly inspired by them. With Ivelisse’s help, she aimed to capture something warm and representative of the festive culture of Puerto Rico and felt satisfied with the end product. Still, as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. 

 

So, when her phone rings nearly an hour after the show ended, she quickly accepts the call, continues pacing, and opens with a stuttering, “Hi. So, uh, hanging out with you guys was like a sucker punch, you know? Made me realize I hadn’t really given the Latino population its fair shake on the show. So, yeah, I hope—“

 

A raspy, almost non-decipherable whisper comes through, “He’s gone.” 

 

Emma freezes mid stride. “What did you just say—“

 

“He’s gone. My dad. He’s... He’s gone.” The words are uttered so softly that Emma just knows Regina is numb. She knows because that’s how she felt when the only person she cared for set her up to take the fall for his crime and left her and their unborn child behind without a second glance. So much pain and adrenaline is pulsing through her veins that she can’t truly feel anything. 

 

“Regina, I’m so sorry. I wish...” Emma’s eyes slip closed as her hand reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She almost said she wishes she was there with her to comfort her, but that’s just not enough. “I wish he’d never been sick in the first place.”

 

“I don’t understand...” A lengthy pause has Emma pacing again. “I don’t understand how a man like my father is gone but a man like Leopold will never get what he deserves. I don’t understand why this  _ god _ my father believed in would do this.  _ This isn’t fair _ .”

 

And Emma doesn’t know what to say, because she’s right. It’s not fair. Life hardly ever is. Good people die young and plainly evil people live long lives and have luck on their side. Good deeds don’t always bring good karma and evil deeds don’t receive any blowback. Life isn’t fair, and Henry’s battle with cancer and untimely death isn’t fair. 

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to say anything at all. 

 

“It happened right after we watched the episode.” 

 

Emma’s mouth drops open to release a silent, painful rush of air that explodes from her lungs, like she was punched in the gut. “Fuck—“

 

“He died with a smile on his face.” Regina drops into a stiff plastic hospital chair stationed outside of the morgue. Her eyes are red, her cheeks are covered in a wet sheen, and tear drops are quickly rolling off her chin to land on her thigh. “He died sitting next to me, watching a Latina on television cook one of his favorite foods, with a smile on his face. The last thing he said to me... he told me I’m special.” Her voice cracks, “H—He died with a smile on his face, Emma.”

 

Emma’s knees wobble and her throat closes up. She rasps, “He wasn’t alone.”

 

“No, he wasn’t.” Regina stares at the linoleum tiles under her as she thinks about her father’s last hour of life. “He was lively and adamant for a few minutes before... in a way I hadn’t seen in him in a while. I think he knew his time was coming, as insane as that may sound.”

 

“It’s not insane, Regina. I think he’s been preparing for this for a while.” Emma swallows, clearing her throat as she tries to breathe. “When I met him, he was on a warpath, you know, to make sure you’d be okay? And I think he knew he wouldn’t be around much longer. Regina... he loved you so much, of that there’s no doubt.”

 

“He did...” Regina nods absently as she quickly wipes at her cheeks. She’s about to speak again when she spots her mother exiting from the morgue where she’d been conversing with the coroner. Frantically, she whispers, “Hold on.”

 

Then Emma hears a flash of static as Regina tucks the phone into her jacket pocket. It clears just as Cora strides up to Regina with a suspicious glance toward the pocket that she stuck her phone in. 

 

“Who were you talking to?” Cora asks, her lips pulled into a thin line, her eyes lacking any sort of grief. 

 

“One of the prospective funeral homes,” Regina lies smoothly. Emma purses her lips, impressed. 

 

“Your father will be cremated so that’s a waste of time.” The older woman moves to the side, as if to bypass Regina to head down the hall, when Regina grabs her bicep and halts her.

 

“Papí wanted a funeral. He told me once when I was younger.” 

 

They’d spent the day riding horses in secret because Cora would always take issue with Regina’s form and style of riding and ruin it. As they put the horses back in their stalls, he had turned to her and started mentioning the son of a friend of his that had been struck and killed by a drunk driver and how his family had no idea what he wanted because he’d been too young to even think of having conversations about death. He went on to tell her about his own wishes. At the time, Regina was confused by his seemingly sudden need to inform her about it. Now, though, she realizes he had just been diagnosed and was thinking obsessively about his own mortality.

 

“His mind changed.” Cora whips her arm free then leans in menacingly. “I suppose you were simply too absent, dear.”

 

And that stings, because it’s partly true. Being married to a controlling egomaniac cut her visits down to a bare minimum until Leo started backing off recently. But even when she was there with him, they never spoke about those things, so she has no way of knowing whether her mother is being honest or doesn’t want to go through the trouble of planning a funeral. 

 

“We’ll pick out a nice little urn and you can take him with you.” Cora straightens her spine and sneers, “God knows it would only clash with my decor.” 

 

It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge and take her down with as much vigor as she took down Leopold during Christmas. Emma, on the other hand, growls into her hand and bites the skin of her palm. Regina gears up to argue some more but her fight is drained when she peers over Cora’s shoulder and sees her father’s lifeless body on the cold metal slab through the observatory window. 

 

She lets Cora go and glares at her back as she exits the morgue with her head held high. When she turns back toward the observation window, she sees the coroner gently covering her father’s face with a white sheet. 

 

* * *

 

“I hear exercise helps...” Emma mentioned during one of their phone calls in the middle of February. 

 

Two weeks had passed since Henry died, his urn placed on her side table, and Regina was drowning in her grief. She barely ate or went out. She spent her days laying on the couch of the study where she’d first pleasured Emma and watched Ivelisse’s episode on a loop. Their phone calls consisted of Regina’s crying quietly into the receiver and Emma murmuring comfort as best she could.

 

So when Emma first mentioned exercise, she scoffed. She barely had the energy to get out of bed and walk to the study so how was she supposed to do something so strenuous?

 

“It doesn’t have to be anything too crazy. Just a walk around the block, then maybe work up to a half mile, then a mile, and on and on.” Emma suggested calmly. 

 

It took her a week to heed the advice. She started slow. She’d walk down the block and attempt to smile back at her pitying neighbors. Eventually she worked up the energy to walk to the grocery store and buy the ingredients she’d need for dinner, which she always ate alone. Leopold was giving her even more space, if possible. He never came home, period. Snow let it slip during one of their phone calls that her father was staying at a hotel. 

 

And now, she finds solace in the nearby hiking trails, being immersed in nature and feeling far removed from the life she has back in Storybrooke, especially when Emma answers the phone when she calls during her walks.

 

“I feel like you’re going to be more buff than me by the time I see you.”

 

“I’m walking, not weight lifting, Emma.” Regina smiles into the phone. It’s not wide or extremely bright but it’s genuine and it’s been missing for a while. “I will say that my glutes are have been toned nicely.”

 

Emma groans dramatically. “Why would you say that to me when I can’t test the firmness of those glutes?”

 

“Insatiable.” Regina murmurs, thoroughly amused. 

 

“Only for you, Reggie.” 

 

“Don’t ruin the moment.” 

 

“You love it.”

 

“I do not.” Regina’s voice has way too much brightness in it to be considered scolding. 

 

Emma chuckles knowingly. “Whatever, I know the truth.” She clears her throat. “Have you talked to Cora?”

 

Regina sighs. “No, and I don’t wish to.” 

 

Cora had been giving her the cold shoulder for a reason Regina can’t comprehend. It’s not as if she fought her on the cremation and she did take the urn off her hands. It’s only fair to say Regina also hasn’t reached out because of her deep bitterness over how her mother handled Henry’s death, which is emotionless and nonchalant. 

 

With any normal mother and daughter duo, Emma would probably encourage them to work out their differences, but Cora doesn’t deserve Regina. Something about the older woman gives Emma the creeps. 

 

Speaking of creeps... “Oh, I forgot to tell you over breakfast! Sidney was on set all morning. He just left like twenty minutes ago but the crew is still on edge since there’s been rumors about massive layoffs.”

 

Regina hops over a loose tree root on the path as she recalls a phone conversation she overheard. “That seems like a true possibility. Apparently  _ On The Dinner Table _ is the only show that has big time advertisers and brings the network cash flow. Leo seemed stressed over it when he was home some time last month.”

 

“I don’t know whether to be smug or worried.” Emma rubs at her temples, shrugging off her leather jacket as she plops into the director’s chair. David is right next to her, completely immersed in whatever he’s looking at on his phone. 

 

“Considering you’re the head of the show keeping Enchanted afloat? You’re fairly secure, I would think.” 

 

“Yeah, maybe, but what about my crew? They’re good people and most of them need this job to survive. I don’t want Leo waving his power around and cutting my people.” 

 

Which looks quite plausible considering Sidney’s been sniffing around for weeks. Emma groans, frustrated with the possibility. 

 

“I know, darling. But we shall see what happens.”

 

Emma holds up her finger when a stage manager alerts her that the talent is done with makeup and wardrobe. “Hey, I gotta go. Talk to you later, glutes?”

 

“Idiot...” Regina sniffs, “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s strange to just waltz right in the front door.” Gold twirls his cane between his fingers and stares into the raging fire that’s giving the dark room an orange glow. 

 

“You should still proceed with caution. The last thing I need is for the local beat reporter to capture a picture of you leaving my home at an ungodly hour before my husband’s corpse is even cold.” Cora snatches the wine bottle from the small refrigerator hidden under her study desk and uncorks it. “My approval numbers are far too low to sustain the blow of a scandal.”

 

Gold hums. “When you lurk in the shadows for too long, people tend to notice, Madame Mayor.”

 

Cora pours a healthy portion of red wine into a glass and immediately takes a hefty sip. “I’ve been careful.”

 

Robert nods, conceding. “Indeed. It’s a good thing you got that brat of yours to agree to cremation. Who knows what would’ve happened had she realized the truth.” 

 

Cora huffs. “Please, my daughter is much too dense.”

 

“Perhaps that’s true, but I’m sure the girl would’ve asked questions if a military service was set up for her father.” 

 

She swigs the wine, enjoying the fragrant tang she can smell wafting from the glass. “Yes, I’m sure she would have, but I’m also sure she still wouldn’t have caught on. She was too grief stricken over that pathetic excuse of a man.” 

 

Gold drops his cane to lean on it and limp over to the couch Cora perched herself on. He sits, propping his forearms on he handle of his cane. “But what will you do now, dearie? The old man is dead and Regina is most likely contemplating divorce now.” 

 

“Of course she is. That bastard is unbearable.” 

 

“And yet you sold your child to him, knowing what he would do.” Not that Gold cares much. He runs his underground business, owns most of the town’s real estate, and the mayor spreads her legs for him every night. In the end, Regina was a chess piece, one that benefited the endgame but is easily flicked off the board when the time comes.

 

Cora, however, grinds her teeth, her jaw tightening. “It was a necessary evil.” 

 

The “for who?” is on the tip of his tongue but he bites down on the words. After all, she hasn’t spread her legs yet tonight and the last thing he’ll do is jeopardize that in order to defend a young girl he feels  _ nothing _ for. Sure, he watched her grow up and anonymously donated to her favorite stable when she started riding, but it was just charity. Tax deductions.

 

“Well, what’s done is done.” Gold stares at the fireplace hearth and watches the orange shades dance on the rock slab. “His prenup was clear. Divorce, no matter the reason, would protect him from parting with his fortune. But if he were to, say, suffer a fatal accident...”

 

“She would inherit everything.” Cora finishes, a smirk on her face. 

 

“Mmm, but would she give anything to mother dearest?” Gold quirks his brow and watches gleefully as that smirk drops quicker than it appeared. 

 

“I wouldn’t give her a choice.” She finally says after a few tense seconds of silence. She stares him down. “Make it look like an accident.” 

 

“And what do I get in return? You can’t just get something for nothing, dearie.” 

 

Cora lifts her brow condescendingly. Her thighs part and her hand slides down to her abdomen suggestively. “You get plenty, don’t you think?”

 

And, well, Gold can’t do anything but nod. 

 

* * *

 

Across town, in the large skyscraper hotel near the town’s coastline, Leopold drops onto the patio chair on the balcony attached to his room and beckons Sidney outside. 

 

“I’m assuming you’ve found something.” It’s supposed to be a question but it’s phrased like a command.

 

“I received the call logs last night.” Sidney takes a seat across from him and glances around nervously before settling his gaze back onto his boss. “Your wife started making calls to number she has listed as Sam Wanem toward the middle of last year. They’ve spoken hundreds of times, with some calls lasting an hour or more. The frequency has gained since they started, though there was a week of practical silence—“

 

“Which week?” Leo feels the answer in his bones. 

 

“The week of Christmas, sir.” Sidney reveals and Leo nods knowingly. The secretary continues, “I called the number, sir.”

 

Leo shifts, lifting his glass to lay it against his lips. “Was it Emma Swan?”

 

Sidney freezes in his chair but affirms with a stunned nod and Leopold chuckles gruffly into the alcohol before taking a sip. He swallows the liquid, grimacing at the sting as it goes down, then says, “Thank you, Sidney. That’ll be all.” 

 

“Sir? Should I tell Miss Swan to come up from New York or email—“

 

“No, no. Don’t say a word to anyone.” Leo jerks his head toward the balcony sliding doors. “I’ll take it from here.” 

 

Once Sidney closes the door behind him, Leopold deflated and sinks deeper into the wooden chair. His fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles pop. He throws back the liquor in the glass then hurls it at the stone wall across the balcony, enjoying the crunch of glass as it splatters and falls to the ground. 

 

Realizing he doesn’t have any alcohol left in the bottle he took outside, he picks it up and hurls that against the stone as well. He growls. The anger is still overriding everything, so he stomps back into his hotel room, the one he’s been inhabiting because his trophy wife couldn’t stand the sight of him. He chuckles and it’s dark and menacing even to his own ears.  

 

“That fucking  _ whore _ .” His words are slurred but it doesn’t stop him from taking a swig right from the full bottle of whiskey from the liquor cart. 

 

He gave that street rat a job, a second chance after her insubordination, he let her into his home for the holidays, and she screws his wife in return. And _Regina!_ He gave her a home, he provided for her family, he gave her the means to live well, but when he looked for some _payment_ in return, she labeled him a monster. But spreading those legs for that blonde bitch wasn’t monstrous? What could that degenerate offer her that he couldn’t? Hell, he at least had the right _equipment_ to satisfy her. 

 

He felt embarrassed, emasculated, furious. Did she actually think she could get away with this? Did she think there’d be no consequences, that’d he’d take this lying down?

 

Perhaps she just needed a reminder of who she married. 

 

* * *

 

The mansion is quiet and cozy by the time Regina hops into the shower but the steam warms her skin fully and she folds her arms into her chest as she stands right under the shower head and lets the water rinse off all the grime and dirt for her walk earlier.

 

The Fitbit Emma sent her two weeks ago alerted her when she reached ten thousand steps but she continued trudging through the trails of the wooded area on the outskirts of town until her feet hurt. She got home drenched in sweat and downright pungent but waited until after she heated leftovers and shoveled them into her mouth before heading up for the night. 

 

She steps out of the shower and dries her body off quickly then wraps her hair in the same damp towel. She sighs, feeling clean and refreshed. Once she tugs on comfortable flannel pajamas, she sticks her wireless earbuds in, turns her phone’s music up, slips the device into the pocket of her pants, and starts massaging her apple scented lotion onto her legs and arms. 

 

She gets so lost in the swift melody of Vivaldi’s  _ Spring _ piece that she doesn’t hear the front door open and slam. She’s too immersed in a memory of her and her father listening to this work as he drove her down to New York City to visit his family during the summer between first and second grade to feel the vibration on the ground from the front door rattling against the door jamb. She’s too focused on rubbing the lotion into her skin methodically to feel the presence looming in the bedroom doorway. 

 

But she doesn’t miss the heavy vibrations of footsteps stomping rapidly toward her or the strong grip painfully wrapping around her bicep, making the bottle of lotion fall from her hand and spill around their feet. 

 

She tries to rip her arm out of the grip but slips on the lotion to land on her back on the floor. She cries out when a foot lands harshly, swiftly against her side, and the shock has her fists balling. Then she looks up and sees him.

 

“Leopold?” She whispers, her voice cracked and infused with all the pain she feels from the kick she just endured. She stares at his fury, watching his mouth move but only hearing the sweet sounds of  _ Spring _ , until he pulls back his hand, which makes her start kicking her feet to crawl backwards, away from him. 

 

He swings at the spot where she originally landed and she realizes he’s sloshed. His movements are disjointed and the stench of alcohol is suddenly pervasive. She scrunches her nose and kicks her feet out again, this time connecting with his shin so hard he howls loud enough to be heard over the orchestra still rampant in her ears. 

 

He trails after her, lunging carelessly in his drunken state, but Regina’s movements are alert and precise and she’s able to get a couple of feet between them before her back hits the chaise lounge. She tries to stand but he’s looking over her before she can even try and his hands are wrapping around her biceps, the grip so tight she knows there’ll be bruises. He shakes her so hard one earbud comes loose and falls away. 

 

“—think you can play me?!” He bellows right in her face and it’s so deafening she flinches back. “You were wrong!” 

 

“Leo—“ 

 

His meaty paw backhands her with enough force to make her ears ring. She tastes blood. A cut on her lip. 

 

“You don’t get to speak,” is growled into her cheek, leaving a trail of spittle on her skin that makes her shudder. She hates this man, she hates him, she can’t take it anymore—

 

Another smack echoes across the room. This one sends her flying back to the hardwood, face first with her arms curled up underneath her. Her nose throbs. She thinks she must’ve smashed it against the wood when she landed.

 

A foot connects with her ribs and the air in her lungs escapes in one long gasp. 

 

He smirks at her menacingly, towering over her disheveled and bruised body. She’s defenseless, startled, and tired. His drunkenness isn’t enough to give her the upper hand. But then he makes a fatal mistake.

 

“I know all about you and that street rat,” He growls and Regina’s eyes widen, “And I can’t wait to get my hands on her next.”

 

Something in her snaps at the threat, making her leg kick toward him with startlingly accurate fury, and, this time, her foot lands exactly where she needs it to. 

 

He bends over, his hands covering his crotch, and the pain has him stumbling backwards and falling against the bed frame. She takes the opportunity and bolts out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and she’s almost at the front door by the time he’s standing. 

 

She swipes her keys from the bowl by the door and high tails it out of the mansion. She ignores the throbbing of her elbows and ribs and hops into her Mercedes as quickly as possible. Just as she turns the key and the car roars to life, Leopold stumbles onto the front porch and yells out to her. 

 

“Get back here, you ungrateful harlot!” 

 

Her hands are shaking so hard she nearly puts the car in drive and sends the vehicle hurtling into the garage but she finally sets it correctly and backs away, tires screeching, just as he reaches the blacktop. 

 

She presses down on the gas as she swerves onto the road and races away from that house of horrors. The harmony of instruments still rages on in one ear.

 

She doesn’t look back.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

_To: Regina Mills_

_From: Snow White_

_Subject: Checking In_

 

_Hello, Regina. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Emma won’t tell me anything, which means she’s a keeper, huh? Anyway, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Well, I can empathize because of my mother, but if my father passed, I’d be inconsolable. Henry was always such a kind, gentle man, and he loved you with every fiber of his being. I hope you know I’m here for you though. Emma’s here for you._

 

_Don’t feel compelled to respond. I just wanted to reach out and let you know people care. I’ll be home for the summer soon. Perhaps we can spend time together?_

 

_Stay strong._

 

* * *

 

“Mulan—“

 

“What if people are allergic to shrimp? That’s a thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Mulan—“

 

“But not everyone likes chicken either, you know! I mean, I could have both—oh my god, what about the vegetarians?! THE VEGANS?!”

 

“Mulan—“

 

A faint _“just serve a side salad, babe”_ comes through the line. Mulan gasps, “No walnuts! People can die!”

 

“Mulan, just do a brunch thing. Serve, like, bacon and eggs and some pasta.” Emma is finally able to chime in. “Besides, it’s just a bridal shower—“

 

“ _Just_ a bridal shower?” Mulan whispers darkly. Emma hears a whine from Aurora.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it sets the mood for the wedding. I’m an idiot. Just do the brunch thing.” She rolls her eyes then takes a hearty bite of her grilled cheese. “Anyway, this doesn't even make sense. Your wedding is a month from now. This shower is literally a week before it.”

 

“ _Um,_ more gifts? This wedding isn’t cheap. I’m milking you all for every penny.”

 

“I can’t believe you called me at one in the morning—I was asleep by the way!—to call me to complain about this!”

 

Being woken up also has dire consequences on her physique. Emma shrugs and takes another bite of her food, savoring the classic flavor.

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Mulan scoffs, “Someone’s grumpy.” Emma squawks indignantly, because _really?_ Mulan has been a literal nightmare for months. Emma’s even had dreams of Mulan chucking fine china at her head and tackling the caterer from across a table. “But I’ll allow it since your brunch suggestion is actually helpful.”

 

A knock on her door saves her from having to resist driving over to Mulan’s apartment and throttling her. “Someone’s here. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you... on May 4th... _maybe_.”

 

 _“_ Excuse you _,_ I will see you in a month! You will not miss this bridal shower—“

 

She’ll deal with the blowback from hanging up on her later. Maybe in a month. _Maybe_. First, she should tell the Jehovah’s Witness at her door to scram. Well, she would’ve told them to scram if it was a Jehovah’s Witness, but it’s the furthest thing from a solicitation.

 

There, on her doorstep, she finds a bruised and battered Regina. She suddenly wishes it was a Jehovah’s Witness.

 

“Regina?! Oh my god!” Emma tries to pull her into the apartment but flinches and pulls back when Regina hisses in pain.

 

“I’m alright,” Regina tries to lie. Truthfully, the long drive to Emma was excruciating. Her side was deeply bruised, she had trouble breathing, her left cheek was swollen and bleeding, and her elbows were sore from when she fell. On top of the discomfort, she was exhausted, both mentally and physically. By the time she hit Massachusetts, her eyes had started drooping. She’s not sure how she didn’t end up in a ditch on the side of the road.

 

Emma sees right through her and bars her from coming in.

 

“No way. You have to get checked out!” Emma spots crimson on her lips and oozing from the cut on her cheek, “Christ, you’re bleeding.”

 

She sends the brunette a pointed look, silently begging her to not protest, then throws on a jacket and grabs a napkin without Regina saying a word, which is surprising. She expected more pushback to going to the hospital. The lack of any makes it clear that the brunette must be in excruciating pain.

 

“Here,” She extends the napkin to a groggy-looking Regina, who takes it and presses it against the cut on her cheek. It’s mostly dried by now though, so she ends up using it to wipe where the blood had trailed down a few inches and removing the crusted portion.

 

Regina removes as much as she can before balling up the napkin in her fist and blinking away tears from frustration. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

 

“Regina...” Emma bites down on her tongue until she tastes blood. “Please don’t apologize.”

 

“I showed up unannounced and I’m... _a mess_.” Regina confesses, self loathing coating every syllable.

 

Emma’s heart jolts harshly against her ribs at the sight of her. Her hands curl into tight fists as she swallows the urge to drive to Maine and smack Leopold so hard his head spins.

 

“Come on, let’s go get you checked out.”

 

They take the Mercedes to the nearby emergency room and the facility is packed with patients waiting to be seen, which leads to a forty five minute long wait in the waiting room, where Emma watches one of the late night hosts savagely tear a political figure apart in a segment and Regina takes a quick power nap in the uncomfortable and rickety chair, leaning her head against Emma’s shoulder for support.

 

Getting beaten then driving almost six hours to Manhattan does that to a woman.

 

The secretary that asked them to take a seat beckons them just as Regina starts snoring, the loud voice startling her from her rest, the sudden movement making her grimace. She hands Emma a clipboard with a thick stack of papers for them to fill out. She dictates the questions, listens intently to Regina’s slurred answers, and writes them down with as much detail as possible.

 

A short while after handing the clipboard back to the young woman behind the front desk, a nurse appears with a plastic band and calls them over.

 

“Hello, Miss Mills.” He greets calmly, a friendly smile directed at them both as he clips the band with her basic information around her wrist. Emma didn’t question Regina when she put down _single_ as her relationship status on the papers they filled out. Still, she wasn’t sure how to feel about it, even if she knows deep down that it was a slight directed at Leopold. The doctor gently pats her shoulder and turns to usher them away from the waiting room. “Come with me, ma’am.”

 

They walk to the threshold of the treatment area when another nurse tries to bar Emma from following them in but Regina practically begs them to let Emma through and the wide doe-eyed pleading works like a charm.

 

The man that called them in immediately hollers for an intake nurse and asks her to take Regina’s vitals and give her a quick examination to figure out how her body is holding up then he leaves to grab another patient.

 

The intake nurse, an young woman with dark hair and blue piercing eyes and a strange accent that sounds vaguely Australian, asks Regina to change into the light blue backless hospital gown and ushers her toward the bathroom near their station. Emma sidles up to the friendliest nurse in the meantime, a young blonde girl whose name tag identifies her as Elsa.

 

“Excuse me,” The young girl blinks at her then nervously darts her eyes around the room, as if she can’t believe someone is speaking to her. Once Elsa nods after a few seconds of awkward silence, Emma clears her throat. “I’m not a hundred percent sure about the circumstances that landed her here so do you think you could bag her clothes, just in case?”

 

 _“ Oh_ ,” Elsa breathes out and Emma feels some relief at the quiet sympathy she hears, “Well, it’s already hospital policy to bag belongings to avoid misplacing personal items.” Emma sighs, nerves assuaged sufficiently. Elsa shifts toward Emma imperceptibly and whispers, “Would you like me to, uh, call the police?”

 

“Oh, uh, no. No. I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to her about it so... but thank you, you know, for asking.” Emma grimaces at just how jumbled she sounds but thankfully Elsa doesn’t bat an eye. She squeezes Emma’s tense bicep and walks away to tend to another patient, leaving Emma to stare at the bathroom door and wait.

 

And when Regina shuffles out of the bathroom in a loose gown, one hand reaching behind her to hold the back flaps shut and the other balancing her folded clothes, the intake nurse gently takes the bloodied cloth into her gloved hands and quickly places them into a plastic bag with the hospitals logo, just as Elsa promised.

 

Without anything to occupy Regina’s hand, Emma clearly sees how those fingers are shaking violently. Emma absently wonders when Regina last ate and thinks about heading down to the cafeteria. Then she realizes it could be pure anxiety and adrenaline and bites on her cheek to keep a frown from appearing.

 

An older, severe nurse with a hairstyle straight from the 1950’s gruffly points Regina toward the empty bed closest to the nurses station. Emma helps Regina into the bed by letting the brunette use her shoulders to push upward and grimaces when Regina whimpers with each movement.

 

The amount of anger building in Emma is becoming unbearable. Leopold White is lucky she won’t leave Regina alone for anything in the world.

 

She blinks at the brunette sinking into the mattress and swallows her fury so she can cover Regina’s bare legs with the knitted blanket. She takes Regina’s hand in hers and rubs the back with her thumb. “Do you need anything, like food or something to drink?”

 

“It’d probably be wise to not consume anything. I don’t know what tests they’ll want and what will be required.” Regina states softly. Still, Emma nods shyly, feeling entirely inadequate in this situation.

 

She’s never been to the hospital. When she was a young foster kid, she spent most of her time at school or in the bedroom she was given. Whenever she would get hurt, she kept it a secret for fear that the foster family would deem her as too much trouble and send her away. In the nightmarish homes, they would never take her to the hospital or doctor if she was hurt, so she saw no point in disclosing any injuries.

 

As a runaway teenager, she never went because she didn’t want Child Protective Services to find her. Besides, she usually would steal some peroxide and bandages from a retail store and do it herself. But she’s also gotten very lucky. She’s never been so severely injured that she couldn’t handle it on her own and she’s certainly never been forced to call for help.

 

Regina seems to sense her distress, because she extends her hand out and beckons her forward with a wiggle of her fingers. Once Emma is close enough to feel Regina’s breath against her lips, she hears and feels the sentimental whisper, “Just stay with me. That’s all I need.”

 

So she does. She stays by Regina’s side and talks about the next episode of _On The Dinner Table_ , feeling like the brunette deserves some spoilers this time, tells her about Mulan’s bridal shower meltdown, which makes Regina smile groggily, and even shares some of the idle gossip from set.

 

“I think David is seeing someone.” She finally mentions after the doctor informs them which tests they want to run and that they’ll send over a nurse to prepare her to be taken upstairs.

 

“David is...” Regina blinks contemplatively, searching her memory, “the sound guy?”

 

Emma confirms, “Yeah, he holds the fuzzy boom mic up and makes sure everything sounds clear.”

 

“Well, that’s nice that he found someone.” Regina replies offhandedly.

 

Emma purses her lips. “It would be if he wasn’t already engaged.” She stares at Regina from the corner of her eye, noticing the brunette’s slightly uncomfortable expression at the information. But Emma’s not done. “I think he might be having an affair with Snow.”

 

Regina chokes on air, “ _What?!”_ Emma grits her teeth and whines. She never thought she’d be saying this either but there’s been so many hints. “Tell me you’re joking, Emma...”

 

“I wish I could. Here me out.” Emma huffs, collecting her thoughts. “During the week of Christmas, the day we first fu—” Her faces turn crimson and Regina smirks lazily. “Yeah, that day, when Snow and I hung out downstairs? She got a call from someone named David and she told me she met him at the Enchanted Christmas Ball. And I mean, my David came to mind but he doesn’t seem the type to cheat, you know?”

 

“He’s a man.” Regina deadpans. Emma doesn’t mention the fact that they’re technically also having an affair. Although Leopold doesn’t deserve their loyalty. She shrugs.

 

“Anyway, I dismissed that hunch until last week. I overheard him talking on the phone and I’m pretty sure I heard him say _Snow_ a few times.”

 

“It could be a coincidence—“

 

“You know another Snow?” Emma quirks her brow.

 

“ _Of course not_ . But he could’ve been referring to the _weather_.”

 

“Maybe.” Emma concedes. Her gut is still telling her he was talking to Snow. “But it would explain why she’s been so secretive about this guy though.”

 

“Snow is so puritanical and squeaky clean. I just don’t see her being so nonchalant about something like this.” Regina comments, remembering how scandalized the young girl was when she kept catching her father in semi-compromising positions with various women over the years.

 

It was a shock to her to see him being unfaithful to Regina and she repressed it, but those experiences shaped her. Snow wants a love like the one she witnessed between her parents, Eva and Leo, not a disingenuous sham that Regina and Leo’s marriage is, and starting a relationship with infidelity doesn’t seem like her.

 

Then again, Snow’s changed quite a bit the last few months, thanks in part to the blonde in front of her.

 

“She can be, yeah, but she also thinks love conquers all and if two people belong together, nothing should get in the way.” Emma adds, “I mean, you saw how she stepped aside and gave us her blessing. She’s knows love can withstand all obstacles. Maybe she sees David’s fiancée as an obstacle.”

 

“That’s... _horrible_.” Regina frowns and Emma’s quick to clarify.

 

“Okay, that does sound terrible without context! David is engaged to this woman because they were pressured by the families. His own fiancée is unhappy with the arrangement too, he told me himself one night at a crew party. He’s pretty sure his fiancée is in love with a friend of his.”

 

Regina’s expression doesn’t soften. “Why not just end the relationship?”

 

“It’s not always that easy.” Emma gives her a pointed look and Regina sheepishly purses her lips. They truly should be the last ones to judge, even if their circumstances are more severe. Plus, Regina’s stayed with Leopold, at least until now, even though her father had passed away. Life isn’t always so easy. “But, uh, what do you think I should do?”

 

“With Snow?” Regina asks then sighs softly when Emma nods. “I think you should give her time and let her come to you. Same goes with your sound guy.”

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

“I usually am, darling.”

 

“Jerk.” Emma teases, repressing the urge to follow routine and pinch Regina’s side in jest. With the way she grimaces at every movement, touching anywhere other than her hands feels like a bad idea.

 

Soon after, the doctor shows up looking mightily disheveled and hurried and informs them that Regina will be taken to do an MRI. Emma holds Regina’s hand the entire journey up to the room and tries to keep her mind off of the test since the brunette once confessed to being slightly claustrophobic. Luckily, no contrast is needed, which greatly relieves Regina. She’s never had to ingest it but her father did and he always complained about his experience.

 

Emma watches from the outer room and nervously shuffled across the linoleum as she keeps her eyes trained on Regina through the plexiglass. Once the machine starts up and begins sending images to the technician sitting in front of the computer, she tries to decipher them despite not understanding a damn thing about any of this.

 

As she stares at the black and white scans, she can’t help but wish she could get her hands on Leopold White and make him pay for everything, for what’s he’s done to Regina and to her and how he’s marginalized so many people at his network and through his leadership.

 

If only fate, destiny, karma, or God actually existed. Maybe then he’d get what he deserves.

 

* * *

 

The doctor, an older man with graying hair and dark, expressive eyes, comes to see them once they’ve been settled into an inpatient room on the third floor and his speech is long enough to be terrifying, even if Regina doesn’t look as grave now that she’s been cleaned up.

 

“The scans showed two fractured ribs, both on the left side. Your nose isn’t broken, but there’s some bruising on the bridge that extends to the top of your cheek, so you may find the area to be quite sore. The cut on your cheek has been thoroughly cleaned and doesn’t require stitches. Our intake nurse informed me that you’re feeling short of breath so I want to just keep you until the morning to make sure that symptom doesn’t worsen, alright?”

 

Emma pipes up before he can leave, “She’s in a lot of pain. Is there anything you can give her?”

 

“Of course. I’ll send in a nurse to give her a mild painkiller and the anti-inflammatories for her fractures.” He smiles at them, looking just as tired as they are. “Rest up. I’ll speak to you both in the morning.”

 

He practically sprints out of the room and Regina feels a ping of pity for the man. Working the night shift at the hospital can’t be an easy task. Not that’s it’s been a real cakewalk for them either. The adrenaline from the confrontation has fully faded and the aches and pains have only intensified since they arrived at the hospital, and Emma looks just as exhausted, especially after a long day on set. Some guilt is lingering but she shakes it off. Emma would never have let her come alone and she’s just grateful to have the blonde next to her, to have a safe place to run to.

 

“Regina?” The timid tone garners her full attention. She snaps her gaze to where Emma is sitting in the uncomfortable guest chair she pushed next to the bed and notices how much she’s fidgeting. “Do you want to... _press charges?”_

 

 _Oh_. Regina swallows gruffly, her throat suddenly dry. “I—I’m not sure. It’s... it’d probably be a waste of time.”

 

“I know this is a decision only you can make and your feelings should be the only ones that matter. I can’t lie, I want him to suffer for everything he’s put you through, but no matter what, Regina, I’m here, okay?”

 

A tan hand slips into Emma’s pale one to intertwines their fingers and those brown eyes are wet as she whispers, “I don’t want revenge. I just want you.”

 

“It’s okay to want justice though.” Emma lifts their hands to her lips and lays a sweet kiss to the back of Regina’s. “And I hope you already know that you have me. Hook, line, and sinker from day one.”

 

“He’s Leopold White and I’m his young, gold digging trophy wife. No one will believe me and he has enough power to make my life hell.” Regina gasps when she remembers what made him put his hands on her in such an unprecedented way. “Damn it! _Emma_. I’m so sorry.”

 

“What—“

 

“He knows about us!” Regina’s breathing becomes erratic, “That’s why he attacked me! And he said he’d come for you next. Oh god—“

 

“Hey, no. Stop.” Emma rushes to sit next to her on the bed and curls her arm gently around Regina’s shoulder, careful not to jostle her. “He’s too much of a coward to try anything on me. What’s the worst he could do? Fire me? Get me blacklisted? So be it. As long as I have you...”

 

“ _No!_ No, you’re supposed to have your dream job, supposed to make a difference through your medium, _and_ have me. You shouldn’t have to choose!”

 

“But that’s not our reality, Regina, and I’m okay with that. I could find another job but there’s only one _you_.” Emma explains, her voice strained because of the distress she hears in her lovers voice but also light and sure because she knows what she wants and she knows she’ll fight for it no matter what.

 

Emma starts to lean in for an assuring kiss when an exaggerated cough comes from the doorway. It’s the young blonde nurse from earlier, who at least has the decency to grin sheepishly.

 

“I’m just here to administer the painkiller and the anti-inflammatory then I’ll be out of your hair.” Elsa moves quickly, does what she needs to, then gives Emma a knowing smile as she leaves.

 

“Do you know her?” Regina asks, slow and deliberate, and Emma furrows her brows because that tone was hard enough to be construed as suspicion.

 

“I spoke to her briefly when you were changing into this fashion statement,” Emma plucks at the hospital issued gown. “But enough about that. Where were we?”

 

Regina seems to forget her jealousy the moment Emma’s lips connect with hers and she eagerly reciprocates, slipping her right hand into Emma’s hair. Emma leans down more to lessen the distance Regina has to stretch to keep kissing, but finally pulls back when Regina swipes her tongue across her bottom lip.

 

At Regina’s soft mewl, Emma chuckles under her breath. “You need some rest.”

 

Regina grabs Emma’s shirt in her fist and tries to pull her back down as she huffs, “I need you.”

 

Emma resists by pulling out her trump card. “I love you,” Innocently, she pouts and adds, “But I’m exhausted.”

 

Almost on cue, Regina’s eyes drift shut as the painkiller starts to take effect. Emma lays down on the edge of the hospital bed, on the side where Regina’s ribs aren’t fractured, and stares at the woman she loves until she follows suit and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

The doctor releases Regina in the early hours of the morning, right before his shift ends, and, because Regina’s pajamas from the night before are still speckled with blood, Emma quickly runs down to the hospital gift shop to buy a sweatshirt and sweatpants that are a sickly shade of blue and smell distinctly like hand sanitizer.

 

When she gets upstairs to the room, Regina’s already disrobed in the bathroom, waiting for her, and Emma smirks. The brunette has been eager to leave since she woke up this morning.

 

“Here,” Emma hands her the clothes and watches as she gingerly slips into them. “Need a hand?”

 

“No, no, I’ve got it.” Regina says. She struggles with the left sleeve of the sweatshirt but stubbornly refuses any help. Emma sighs, twisting her lips upward. Regina’s been a bit grumpy this morning and trying to act like nothing's wrong, but Emma doesn’t say anything. Whatever Regina’s thinking, she’ll come to her when she’s ready.

 

Once the release papers are signed, they drive to Emma’s apartment and she starts sweating a bit when they’re on the elevator. Her apartment is alright. It’s not fancy, it isn’t roach infested and rundown either, but Regina’s used to living in nice, classy places. The last thing she wants is for Regina to look at her differently because she doesn’t live the same lifestyle. Deep down, she knows Regina isn’t judgmental like that but it’s doesn’t stop her hands from becoming clammy.

 

She tries to focus on how nicely those sweatpants showcase the ass she loves way too much. A quiet snort has her eyes darting up to see a knowing smirk. Emma blushes and Regina reaches over to pat her cheek teasingly.

 

“Don’t start something you won’t let me finish.” Regina snarks.

 

“Hey, I was simply appreciating the view!” Emma refutes with utmost seriousness that’s severely undercut by the tongue she sticks out toward her.

 

“Unless you plan to put that tongue to good use, put it away.”

 

“Quit it, you _heathen.”_

 

The elevator pings when they hit the sixth floor and they carefully maneuver over to Emma’s apartment door. Regina’s hands slide over Emma’s lower abdomen and make her hands shake as she tries to unlock her door. She swats at them but Regina just chuckles and moves her hands upward, dangerously close to her breasts.

 

Emma finally unlocks the door on the fourth attempt and practically sprints inside, leaving a smirking Regina to wobble into the apartment and shut the door behind her.

 

Whatever fears Emma had about Regina seeing her place are unfounded, because Regina’s first thought is how warm the apartment is. There’s photos of Mulan, Aurora, Snow, and of people from set, some she even recognizes as chefs. The light bulbs are illuminating the the main living space in a orange tint that makes the apartment feel cozy.

 

The television is playing a rerun of some sitcom, the audiences’ laughs reverberating throughout, and all Regina can smell is vanilla, probably coming from the scented plug ins Emma has around the living room and kitchen. The mansion is large and opulent, but it‘s also cold and impersonal. She always felt like an outsider there. But here, with Emma? Regina thinks she could find a home.

 

She spots two large frames by the door, one housing a high school diploma and another a bachelor's degree. A rush of pride floods her but it’s accompanied by mild envy. She quashes that as quickly as it came and moves forward toward the frames a little further down the wall. The largest one has a photo of the _On The Dinner Table_ crew with Emma front and center, smiling like she won the lottery. Perhaps, for her, she practically did. Directing is Emma’s dream career, after all.

 

She points to the photo. “Which one is that David we spoke about?”

 

Emma puts the pharmacy bags with Regina’s medications down on the kitchen counter and goes to point out David, who’s sitting right next to her in the photo. “That’s him.” She peers at Regina’s scrutinizing expression and tacks on, “He’s a really nice guy.”

 

“So you keep saying.” Regina doubtfully murmurs then strides down the wall, ignoring Emma’s pointed look. Her eyes fall on a frame that has a blown up screenshot. “Is that—“

 

“When Mulan’s episode trended on Twitter.” Emma finishes proudly, smiling at the photo of the _On The Dinner Table_ hashtag trending worldwide with over two hundred thousand tweets. She points to the frame right next to it, “Mulan made me frame that one too.” It was a screenshot of _Mulan_ trending worldwide from the same night. “She was very smug about it.”

 

Regina snorts quietly, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

 

“Eh, believe me when I tell you that meeting her right now isn’t the best idea. She nearly murdered me for suggesting a bridal shower wasn’t important enough to have a panic attack over.” Emma thrusts a thumb over her shoulder, “Want something to eat or drink? All you’ve eaten was that cup of jello this morning.” And of course, Regina’s stomach rumbles loudly at the mention of food. Emma smirks, “I’ll take that as a yes. I don’t have much but I could make you that grilled cheese?”

 

“Bring it on, Swan.” The brunette states with mock graveness.

 

Emma departs with her middle finger up and leaves a smirking Regina by the dozens of frames she’s accumulated on her apartment wall over the last year. Regina carefully analyzes each photo, soaking in the tidbits of information she gathers from each moment Emma thought worthy of display. There’s photos of Emma in her cap and gown at her college graduation, one of Emma leaning against the yellow Volkswagen vehicle she’s so fond of, a few of the infamous engagement party that Emma used as an excuse to call her all those months ago, and even one of Emma volunteering at a homeless shelter.

 

She walks a little more and finds herself on the threshold of the bedroom. She peers inside but freezes when her gaze lands on Emma’s bedside table. There, sitting firmly on the wooden table, facing the bed, is the photo Regina took of herself and sent to Emma not long after they met. Her heart beats solidly against her already throbbing rib cage as she walks closer.

 

She stares at the photo, her smile wobbling. She remembers taking the photo, remembers the events of that day, and remembers how flattered she’d been when Emma complimented her so sweetly. It was the first time Emma ever saw her but truthfully, Regina knows Emma always _saw_ her.

 

“I’ll never forget the moment I received that picture.” Regina jumps at Emma’s voice and turns to see her leaning against the door, a nostalgic grin on her lips. “You know how those idiotic movies always say that love makes you weak in the knees? Yeah, well, I always scoffed at that stuff, but you proved me wrong. When you sent me that, I’m pretty sure I almost collapsed.”

 

Regina doesn’t know what else to say except, “You made me burn my pancakes.” Emma releases an disbelieving snort and Regina just simpers. “It’s true. I was so enraptured by you that I scorched my breakfast.”

 

“I guess we’re just two idiots, huh?”

 

“Happily so—“ Regina’s response is cut off by the sharp ringing of her cellphone. She recognizes the ringtone immediately and shrinks into herself. “Leo.”

 

Emma glares at the kitchen counter where Regina’s phone and earbud is still inside the clear plastic bag with her dirty pajamas then turns back to see Regina swallowing harshly. “We can ignore it.”

 

“He knows I’m here,” Regina reminds her. “I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet. But he will if I don’t answer that.”

 

The fact that she knows she must doesn’t negate the anxiety she feels as she takes the phone from the bag and her thumb clicks on the phone screen to accept the call.

 

“What do you want, Leo?” She tries to sound neutral but her words are practically dripping with bitterness.

 

“Mrs White?” An unfamiliar voice asks. She tenses.

 

“This is Regina _Mills_ ,” Regina corrects. “But yes, I’m married to Leopold White. Who is this?”

 

Emma sidles up next to her, concerned and curious, just as the voice speaks again. “Ma’am, this is Officer Rogers from the Portland Police Department speaking. I’m sorry to inform you that your husband was in an accident and taken to Mercy Hospital in Portland, Maine.”

 

“An accident? Is—is Leopold alright?” Regina keeps pressing the phone into her ear until it hurts. Emma’s eyes widen and she steps closer to try to hear the conversation.

 

“Ma’am, I think it best that you come to Mercy Hospital in Portland, Maine, as soon as possible.” The officers accented voice is calm but has enough pity to let Regina know that Leopold is in a critical situation.

 

“Have you contacted anyone else? Leopold has a daughter.” Regina rubs her temples and feels Emma’s forehead land solidly on her shoulder. The blonde is torn. Leopold getting severely hurt or worse could be a positive thing for Regina, as ugly as that sounds, but to Snow, Leo’s just a good father that loves her intensely.

 

“You are his next of kin and therefore my first and only call. The staff at Portland’s Mercy Hospital are waiting for Mister White’s family to arrive. My condolences to you and your family, ma’am.”

 

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Regina hangs up and frantically clicks through her contacts until her thumb hovers over Snow’s name. Emma lifts her head and frowns.

 

“Why don’t we get you to the car, huh? I’ll call her while you change into something that doesn’t smell like rubbing alcohol,” Emma offers and Regina shoots her a grateful smile. “Go pick out something comfortable, alright?”

 

Regina drops her phone onto the counter and disappears back into Emma’s bedroom. When the door snicks closed, she slides her own cell phone from her jean pocket and opens her favorites list. She clicks on Snow’s name before she can back out.

 

“Hey, Ems! You caught me right on my lunch break. I’m amazed you’re still up considering you don’t have to be on set today!” Snow’s jubilation makes Emma grimace. Her friend is so many things but she isn’t a bad person and she doesn’t deserve this. She deserved a better man as a father, but that ship has sailed, and probably sunk if the officers phone call was anything to go by.

 

“Snow, I need you to stay calm—“

 

“Emma?” Her voice has lost all semblance of joy and ventures into debilitating concern, her breath coming in quick spurts that are loud enough to be heard through the line.

 

“Your dad was in an accident. He’s at a hospital in Portland, Maine. That’s all we know. They didn’t want to say anything else on the phone.”

 

“Portland? I don’t... I don’t understand! What was he—is he okay?” Snow’s stammers.

 

“We don’t know, Snow. I’m so sorry.” Emma peeks behind her to check if Regina has come back and is relieved to see the brunette must be scouring her drawers for something suitable. She continues, “We’ve been told to get up there as soon as possible.”

 

“We? Wait, why do you know all this?”

 

And that is a question Emma can’t answer. That’s up to Regina. But she does give some context. “Regina came to see me yesterday. She was contacted a few minutes ago so we’re getting ready to drive up.”

 

“Okay, I—I’ll try to catch a flight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Snow pauses, the silence deafening for a few moments, then, “And Emma? Thank you.”

 

She’s not sure what the thanks are for, whether it’s because she called or because she was calm and directed the situation or something else entirely, but she mumbles a quiet “ _sure”_ into the phone before hanging up.

 

The insanity of this is mind numbing. Leopold hurt the woman she loves, he crashed on the highway on his way to New York, knowing Regina would be with Emma. He planned to do something about it. Yet, here she is, feeling some form of sympathy, more so for Snow than anything else.

 

“She’s going to catch a flight. She’ll meet us up there.” Emma informs Regina when she steps out of the bedroom in black sweatpants and a loose red t-shirt with the shows name scrawled across the chest.

 

Regina just nods. They both are dead on their feet, completely exhausted and drained from the events of yesterday and this morning.

 

When it rains, it pours.

 

* * *

 

Mercy Hospital turns out to be a modern but paltry building near the city’s airstrip. It’s already dark by the time they’re stepping into the lobby but it’s almost like the woman at the front desk knows who they are. Her expression is chock full of pity, though part of that might be from seeing Regina. The bruise that covers a good portion of her nose and cheek has turned a sickly combination of deep blues and purples, she stays with every step to avoid aggravating her ribs, and the dark circles under her eyes make it clear that she hasn’t rested in a while.

 

“Hello, ma’am.” The young brunette wearing blue scrubs behind the desk greets them with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. She hands over a clipboard as she says, “Just fill this out and we’ll get you check out as soon as possible.”

 

Regina glances at the papers clipped together and grimaces when she realizes the woman thinks she’s a prospective patient. “Oh, no. I’m not—I’m here because I received a call from a police officer. My husband, Leopold White, was brought here after his accident?”

 

 _“ Oh_ ,” The woman sheepishly takes back the clipboard and tosses it onto the pile accumulated on her desk. She swivels to face her computer and starts typing rapidly. “Leopold White, you said?” Regina nods and Emma squirms where she’s standing as she watches the woman type away for a few seconds. Then the secretary’s face falls and Emma can just tell immediately that this day is about to get even worse. “Please take a seat. I’ll call the officer that was on the scene.”

 

“The officer? I’m sorry,” Regina lifts her hands in a signal to slow down, “Where is Leopold? Is he in surgery? Can I speak to a doctor? I just drove six hours to get here and I’ve been in the dark about my—my h—husband.”

 

Regina chokes on a sob that’s gut wrenching. To outsiders, it may seem like grief for the man she married, but earnestly, it’s an eruption of months of hidden emotion. Her marriage, a sham, was in shambles and she stayed strong. Her husband attacked her and threatened to assault her and she stayed strong. Her father died and she stayed strong. She was beaten and she stayed strong. And now... now she feels every piece of anger, and sadness, and bitterness boil to the surface.

 

Emma takes notice immediately and steps forward, peeking at the woman’s name tag as she goes. “Thank you, Dorothy. We’ll go wait for the officer.”

 

They settle into the uncomfortable metal chairs in the lobby with Regina still looking shell shocked. Emma wraps her arm around the brunettes tense shoulders, expecting to be shrugged off but turns out to be pleasantly surprised when she snuggles into her.

 

“Snow once told me she’d be inconsolable if Leopold passed away.” Regina whispers, low and shaky.

 

It’s funny, in a way. If this had happened before Emma (because that’s how Regina divides her life span now; there’s before Emma and there’s after Emma) or at the very least before Christmas, Regina would’ve taken some sick pleasure in the girls pain. She would’ve relished his death and her suffering. But now, after seeing Snow for who she truly is, she finds she’s distraught at the devastation she’s sure to witness.  

 

Emma understands fully. Snow has come such a long way and despite Leopold deserving such a fate, Snow did not. “She’ll have us. We’ll be there.”

 

“He really is... gone, isn’t he? They wouldn’t call the responding officer down here if he wasn’t, right?”

 

“I—” Emma stops, sighs, then leans her head back against the wall behind them and stares at the popcorn ceiling. She tries again, “I don’t know.”

 

Regina just nods absently, like she expected that answer. They almost drown in the silence that follows but a tall, handsome gentleman in uniform making a beeline toward them startles them both. If she weren’t so damn nervous, Emma might’ve joked that he was a spitting image of the perverted camera guy she fired early on in her tenure at _On The Dinner Table_.

 

The officer takes notice of Regina’s injuries but manages to not show any outward signs of it. His deduction skills tells him much more than he cares to know. An older, powerful man married to a girl young enough to be his child. He’d seen it too many times before and he knows better than anyone that men like Leopold White crave control and power over any and every thing. If things were different, perhaps he’d be questioning her on her injuries and targeting the coward.

 

“Are you Leopold White’s spouse?” It’s the first thing that flies out of his mouth and it’s so to the point that all Regina can do is nod, stunned by the bluntness. He turns his gaze on Emma and narrows his eyes with suspicion. “And you are?”

 

“This is his daughter.” Regina lies flawlessly and Emma has to bite her tongue before a denial flies out. “What happened to my husband?”

 

The officer doesn’t look fooled but the lie is enough to get him to keep going. “I’m so sorry to inform you that your husband has passed.”

 

Regina shakes her head, which the officer believes to be grief until she says, “That much is obvious, Officer Rogers. I wish to know what happened.”

 

He stares at her with an unreadable expression as he reaches for his notepad on his department issued belt. Emma anxiously watches as he flips to a specific page and starts to read, “Around eight o’clock pm yesterday, your husband was traveling southbound on I-95 when a deer appeared in his lane. He swerved to avoid striking the animal and instead struck the guardrail. The impact jolted him out of his seat and through the windshield to the wooded area on the side of the highway. As he attempted to crawl back toward the highway, he came into contact with an venomous snake that escaped from a civilians home. A saw-scaled viper, to be precise. The venom proved fatal. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

 

Regina nods succinctly, suddenly emotionless compared to how she was not even fifteen minutes ago. “He’s in the morgue?”

 

The officer clears his throat as he shuffles on his feet and snaps his small notepad closed. “Yes, ma’am. I could escort down.”

 

“Please,” Regina accepts his offer stoically, which seems to keep throwing the young officer off. When he usually discloses news of this sort, he’s met with tears, anger, disbelief or even violence, but he’s never witnessed such calm before.

 

He pushes aside his confusion in order to lead them to the bottom floor of the building and point them toward the large observation windows on each side of the hallway. He remains by the elevators, trying to give them some semblance of privacy, but he can’t help but squint at the hand Emma places on Regina’s lower back.

 

The two women pay him no mind though. The observation window on the left side of the hallway is obscured by window blinds, keeping whatever activity happening behind that wall secret, but the window on the right side is open and the first thing they notice is a body on the metal slab cloaked by a white sheet.

 

Once they’re settled in front of the window, Officer Rogers steps forward to knock on the glass, garnering the attention of the coroner scribbling notes onto some form.

 

Then the white sheet is being pulled back to reveal a pale Leopold with slashes and bruising across his face and neck. Regina tenses, remembering this exact moment from a weeks ago, only it had been her father and she had been fighting off tears. Emma, though, tenses for a whole other reason. She’s never seen a corpse and the sight makes her stomach turn. This man that made the last year absolute hell is now laid out on a cold metal slab with cuts, bruises, and several holes on his torso from snake fangs, lifeless and unable to lay a hand on anyone anymore. It sends chills down her spine.

 

The officer chimes in softly, “We didn’t find a wallet on him but the car was registered in his name. Whenever you’re ready, we must confirm his identity, ma’am.”

 

“It’s him. That’s my husband.” Regina confirms immediately.

 

“Perhaps you’d like a closer look just to make sure?” Rogers offers but it’s quickly turned down by a dismissive wave of Regina’s hand.

 

“I’d recognize him anywhere, unfortunately,” Regina says, the last word spewing maliciously, “That’s Leopold.” She sighs, her eyes once again taking in the scene in front of her analytically. “His daughter is flying in from Washington D.C. and I know she’ll want to see him. Is there a way they could clean him up a bit more? She shouldn’t have to see him like this.”

 

Rogers clears his throat and ignores the slip up. He never believed the blonde to be the remaining White child, but he figured the family had been through enough and strict adherence to red tape wasn’t necessary. As he steps toward them again, he murmurs sympathetically, “Of course. I’ll pass that along.”

 

Emma still hasn’t taken her eyes off of Leopold’s body but she offhandedly mentions, “She landed at the jet port not too long ago. She should be here any minute.”

 

“Thank you, Officer Rogers, for coming on such short notice.” Regina smiles as she finally takes notice of just how disheveled he appears and imagines him racing over to the hospital after his shift to see them. She extends her hand for a handshake and he takes it amicably.

 

When the elevators close behind the officer, Emma feels her phone vibrate in her back pocket—a text from Snow. “She’s outside.” Emma stares at the corpse through the window and shakes her head. “I’ll go get her.”

 

Regina watches her walk away before leaning back against the wall next to the window. The next few minutes will signal a change so grand that she can’t even comprehend it.

 

But as she stands in a morgue for the second time in the last six months, she feels a calm wash over her. Just like Snow told her, they won’t be alone in this, not anymore. Snow will be okay, just as she is okay.

 

Still, she smirks. A snake bite. How fitting.

  



	12. Chapter 12

_To: Regina Mills_

_From: Emma Swan_

_Subject: Hey, Reggie! (Ha, you can’t stop me!)_

 

_First off, I have to say it’s strange to be able to email and message you directly. A good strange! But then I think about why I can contact you like this and I just can’t stop thinking about Snow. How is she? I’ve tried texting and calling but I haven’t been able to get through._

 

_Did you notice how David kept staring at Snow at the funeral? I feel like my suspicions were confirmed. Feel free to take this as an “I told you so”. But speaking of the funeral, it was really well planned, Regina. You did good, especially since he didn’t deserve it, not from you. You’re a bigger woman than I am, for sure._

 

_I miss you like crazy. The spring break hiatus starts up next week and I plan to head up to Storybrooke to visit. That sound okay?_

 

_Anyway, I love you, Regina. Try to get Snow out on the trails with you, please. Talk to you later._

 

~|SQ|~

“Snow? Snow, I know you can hear me, dear.” Regina waits by the younger brunettes bedroom and sighs when all she’s gets is ringing silence in return. “Come on, Snow. The estate lawyer is coming over in an hour to explain what happens now. This is important.”

 

Nothing. Regina smacks her forehead against the wooden door and mumbles into the grain, “Snow, please open the door. I just want to see you and get some food in you. You haven’t eaten since I made you that soup two days ago.”

 

She spent two hours making that soup recipe from Emma’s recent episode. Even after Leopold stopped coming home for dinner, she continued learning, practicing, and slowly gaining confidence. She knows what a rue is, how to cook up various sauces, and even taught herself how to make pasta from scratch. The creativity combined with easily followed rules of cooking allowed her to take solace in the kitchen.

 

Snow clearly enjoyed the meal, not that Regina received verbal confirmation. She’d left the bowl outside her bedroom door and when she returned, an empty plate, practically licked clean, was in its place.

 

She tried doing that again last night. She threw together a lasagna and left the plate at her door, but Snow didn’t take the bait. The meal grew cold in the hallway of the mansion. She knows Snow most likely wanders around the house when she hears Regina leave for her daily walks. She thinks the younger girl pilfers the junk cabinet. One too many donut boxes have mysteriously disappeared to be mere forgetfulness on her part. Regina now buys five boxes when she goes grocery shopping.

 

She contemplates getting a box and setting a trap but Snow probably wouldn’t fall for it. She’s gotten this game of avoidance down to a science.

 

When Snow arrived at the morgue, she studied Regina’s injuries from the elevator threshold until the doors nearly crashed against her shoulders. Thankfully, Emma stuck her hand out in time and gently urged her into the morgue before anyone else was battered. The thing that shocked both Emma and Regina was her reaction when she saw her father’s lifeless corpse through the observation window. She’d stared, silent and stoic, then nodded definitively before turning to Regina and asking to be taken home.

 

From then on, it’s pretty much been this silent treatment, even on the day of his funeral. In her black ensemble, Snow’s expression was blank, her eyes dry, and her hands fisted as she listened to close friends of Leo pour praise on him during each eulogy. She declined to speak. It was all so odd, so opposite of what Regina expected. She expected tears and dramatics and angry accusations and acidic glares. But Snow seemed to not be able to look at her.

 

She hears a blanket rustling and lays her hands against the door. “Snow, I know this is difficult. I really do. And I know you and I don’t have the best history but I’d like to think we’re working past it, aren’t we?” Regina pauses, hears another rustle of fabric. “I loathe groveling but... here goes. _Please_ open the door. _I’m here.”_

 

She waits a few moments, hoping for some kind of change, but ends up doing the same thing she has every single time she’s tried to pry Snow from her room. She starts to turn away when she hears a small click and a groggy, “Regina?”

 

She swivels and nearly cries out in relief when she sees her former step-daughter peeking at her through a slit in her door, but she bites her tongue and waits. Snow seems to be staring at her injuries again, though they’ve certainly faded a bit in the two weeks since Leo’s death. Her bruises are light greens and yellows, the cut on her cheek has scabbed, and her ribs aren’t as sore. She was a sight at his funeral though. She received so many side glances from his friends, family, and co-workers, especially Sidney Glass. His, however, were seeped in shame and seemed strangely apologetic.

 

Snow’s stare is blank, though, and Regina doesn’t know what to make of it until a raspy whisper breaks the silence. “He did that to you, didn’t he?”

 

 _Oh_. The fading bruise on her cheek pulsates at the mention of her injuries and she lifts a hand to sweep her hair back away from it. She shakes her head and says, “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Snow jerks open her door a bit wider to get a better look at the older brunette. “It does.” She inhales through her nose harshly and twists her lips into a frown. “It does to me.”

 

Regina hesitates, not wanting to make anything worse. As much as she hates Leopold, she’s come to the realization that as horrible as he was to her, he was a good father to Snow, and she doesn’t want to bring the girl pain. It’s strange to feel this way after years of resentment and bitterness. At times, when Snow is being aloof or self centered, she gets frustrated, but their relationship has become quite friendly since Christmas.

 

“Please just... just tell me if he did this,” Snow gestures at her face and grimaces. Ever since seeing Regina at the morgue, that grimace has been permanently plastered on her face.

 

“Snow, it doesn’t matter—“

 

“It does, Regina!” Snow cries out so loudly that Regina flinches, “My father was a monster and I didn’t notice! He hurt you and I sat by him at the hospital! I idolized his work ethic and he was a fraud! It matters!”

 

“Snow—“ Regina reaches out to squeeze her bicep but Snow pulls back and lifts her finger in signal for Regina to stop.

 

“He was a monster, Regina.” Snow’s quiet now but her tone is certain, like she doesn’t need confirmation. “So, does it matter that he was a good father when he wasn’t a good man?”

 

Regina blinks, stunned. The tirade is so profound and introspective coming from her former step daughter. She stutters, not sure what to say, “I... I’m sorry, Snow.”

 

Snow shakes her head. “You have no reason to apologize, Regina. He does, but he’s not here. And I don’t know how to feel anymore.” She chuckles derisively, “I should be sad and grieving but I’m so angry and ashamed. I didn’t know what to say or do. I still don’t.”

 

When Regina reaches out this time, Snow leans in and falls into her chest, her arms wrapping around her waist as Regina cradles the back of her head. This quiet affection is unfamiliar to them both, but their embrace isn’t tense or awkward, and they sink into the comfort they both seem to need.

 

“He was a good man to you. He loved you more than anything in this world, Snow, and it’s okay to mourn him.” Regina tightens her arms and sighs, “My mother... she’s always been harsh and unforgiving, and I wish I didn’t care what she thinks of me but I do. I care, because she’s my mother and I love her even when every fiber of my being wants to hate her. Love is complicated because human beings are complicated. But Snow, the fact that you’re angry on my behalf is enough. You _can_ mourn him.”

 

Her t-shirt clings to her skin where Snow’s tears soaked the fabric. A murmur accompanies it, “I was so selfish. I was... I was just like him.”

 

“ _No_ . _”_ She whispers into Snow’s dark short hair fervently.

 

“I always saw your bruises, and your fake smiles, and I complained when you gave me the cold shoulder. I’m no better—“

 

“You changed. That makes you better.” Regina pulls her torso back to lock gazes with Snow. She jerks her head toward the staircase, “Come on, let’s make some breakfast before the lawyer comes.”

 

Regina then pulls back completely, turning away to head toward the landing. Snow stays put and watches her with a sad smile. She calls out to her and Regina stops, hand on the rail. “Henry was a good man _and_ a good father, and I’m sorry _.”_

 

Regina tilts her chin until she can see the younger woman in her peripheral. She smiles, her eyes noticeably wet. _”_ You have no reason to apologize, Snow”.

 

* * *

 

“You think he had a will?”

 

Regina sighs at question and pinches the bridge of her nose as she takes a seat at the kitchen island, waiting for Snow to come down. “I don’t know, Emma. I just want to get this over with and make a plan with Snow so I can get down to New York as soon as possible.”

 

The blonde falls back onto her mattress to stare at the blemish on the ceiling left behind from when the neighbors plumbing burst two years ago. The landlord claimed it was just an eyesore but not necessary to fix and Emma never expected to stay around long enough to care. Maybe she could paint over it. She shakes her head. “I wonder who he left the company to.”

 

“No clue, but I’d assume it‘s all Snow’s. I hear Albert Spencer is interim CEO?”

 

Emma groans, “God, don’t remind me of that pompous asshole. He’s just as horrible as the last old bastard I took orders from.”

 

Regina bites her tongue, amused, then lightly scolds, “ _Emma_ . _”_

 

“What?” Emma laughs succinctly then sobers, “But seriously, Leopold was easier to manage. He ran Enchanted from his small office building in Storybrooke, but Spencer is running the channel from the headquarters in New York. He’s been riding my ass.”

 

“I’m sure Snow will choose someone more suited for the job when the time comes. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.” Regina teases. She props her chin on her fist and smirks into the cellphone.

 

Emma unknowingly mirrors her expression as she remarks, “You’re trying to be a jerk but I’m just stoked you think my head is pretty.”

 

“Idiot.” Regina whispers lovingly just as Snow waddles into the room still clad in her pajamas but looking much less disheveled.

 

The younger woman quirks a brow and quickly exhales before the pressure in her lungs explodes into a laugh and gives away her fondness, “Emma, I’m guessing?”

 

Regina nods while Emma frantically, and repeatedly, calls out Snow’s name down the line. “Emma!” Regina hushes her, “She can’t hear you! Hold on.”

 

She hands her cell to Snow then goes to leave the kitchen to give them some privacy, making sure to squeeze Snow’s shoulder before collecting a tray of pancakes for Snow and stepping into the dining room to set a place at the table for the girl.

 

“Snow, I’ve been trying to call and I’ve texted a bunch. I didn’t know if you got them...” Emma solemnly states. She’s truly hurt by the cold shoulder but she’s tried to understand. It’s hard though, since she never had a parent to mourn and doesn’t know what emotions that may evoke, but she’s been trying to at least make herself available to her friend. Her efforts were thoroughly rejected.

 

“I saw them. I was too in my head to respond, but they really meant a lot to me, Emma. Reminded me I wasn’t alone.” Snow smiles affectionately, “Well, that _and_ Regina banging on my bedroom daily and threatening to set me on fire if I didn’t talk to her.”

 

“That’s my girl,” slips from Emma’s mouth before she can stop it. She tenses but it’s unfounded because Snow just hums amicably.

 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Snow peeps Regina leaning against the doorway and waves her over, “Speak of the devil. I’m going to eat these pancakes Regina made and get dressed. That estate executor should be here soon.”

 

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later, Snow. I...”

 

Snow’s eyes drift shut, “I love you too, Emma.” Then she slips the phone into Regina’s hand and leaves them in favor of inhaling those chocolate chip pancakes calling out to her.

 

Regina watches her walk away and waits until she’s out of sight before putting the phone to her ear. “I’m back.”

 

“Did you actually threaten to set her on fire?”

 

“I would never.”

 

* * *

 

Leopold’s lawyer turns out to be a somber and slightly disorganized Abigail Midas, the daughter of Leopold’s imprisoned friend. The blonde woman’s suit is askew, her hair dull and flat, and her mouth twisted into a frown. Snow, who has known Abigail since they were young children, tries to talk to her as she sets up her briefcase on the dining room table but Abigail’s responses are short. Her father’s arrest and indictment has certainly taken its toll.

 

Once they’re all settled at the table, Abigail starts pulling out envelopes and stacks of paper. “This case has been quite a handful, truthfully. The feds were close to imposing a fine on Enchanted Television Corp, which is essentially this estate, over Leopold’s fraudulent practices. I argued that you were not responsible for his crimes and they decided not to punish the inheritors in the end.”

 

“Excuse me?” Regina blinks rapidly, surprised by this information.

 

Snow places her hand on Regina’s forearm and grimaces. With all the drama that had ensued over Christmas, she’d forgotten all about her conversation with her father that night in his office. “Daddy did mention that he was in trouble with law enforcement.”

 

“He told you he...” Regina shakes her head, “When did this conversation take place?”

 

Snow sighs, “Christmas. Remember when he left for his _business trip_?” Regina nods. “Well, it wasn’t actually business or pleasure. He was being interviewed.”

 

Regina scoffs as she falls back in her chair in disbelief. Leopold had been many things but she thought he had at least built his empire through sheer determination.

 

Abigail allows the shock to wear off before she continues. “As I said, the FBI decided not to impose hefty fines on Enchanted after determining Leopold was the perpetrator, not his company. Are you both ready to move on?”

 

Regina clears her throat and leans back forward to prop her elbows on the table. “Yes, of course.”

 

“Alright.” Abigail runs a shaky hand through her shoulder length blonde hair and exhales deeply. “Let me just inform you that Leopold did not leave behind a will or any other written legal instruction. I repeatedly urged him to get one but he always scoffed at it, believing he was far from his end. Therefore, I’m not an estate executor. Technically, Regina is the executor but I understand the law can be complicated for those who aren’t experts. I’m simply here as Leo’s lawyer and a family friend to explain what should happen next. So, let’s take a look at Maine’s intestate legislature.”

 

The woman slips her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, tugs a paper from her briefcase and slips it toward them, then explains, “Title 18-A, part one of article two, states that the surviving spouse and surviving child split the estate evenly. However, because this property,” Abigail gestures around them, “is solely under Leopold’s name and he passed without a will, one of you will have to go through probate to transfer the deed to you.”

 

“What about Enchanted?” Snow blurts out anxiously and Abigail sighs like she expected it.

 

“Well, because your father was the sole proprietor of the corporation, his business becomes a part of the estate.” When all she gets are blank look, she clarifies, “One of you will take ownership.”

 

By this point, Regina’s heard everything she needs to. She barely wants the money considering it feels dirty, like she sold herself to get it, and she’s definitely not interested in fighting with Snow over her father’s legacy or her childhood home. She’s just so tired, too tired to care if she gets the raw end of any deal involving the White family.

 

“Since we got the basics out of the way, let’s talk about splitting the estate in half and who will take ownership of what, shall we?” Abigail asks. “Leopold had several bank accounts that accumulated to twenty million, seven hundred thousand, six hundred and fifty-two dollars. So, each of you will receive ten million, three hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and twenty-six dollars.”

 

The number hits Regina in the chest like a ton of bricks. That’s life changing money. That’s money that comes with no strings attached, no sex or bruises, no allowances or guilt. Regina Mills is free but she’s also won so much more than that. She could do anything. She could _be_ anything. She could go to school and get an education. She could open a stable, ride again, care for horses, and foster appreciation for the animals in others.

 

A hand slips on top of hers and she looks up to see Abigail smiling for the first time as she says, “Breathe, Miss Mills. You should live to enjoy it.” The smile fades to a sympathetic glance before Abigail shuffles the papers by her hands. “Now, moving on to the corporation and real estate. Leopold owns this home and an apartment in New York City. How would you two like to deal with that?”

 

Regina, though still reeling from the amount of money Leo had in his bank accounts, manages to turn toward Snow and says, “I’m assuming you’ll want this home?”

 

Snow leans in to whisper in Regina’s ear. “And I’m assuming you’ll want that apartment near Emma?”

 

“Indeed I do, dear.” Regina admits with a sly smirk and Snow nods, sending a wink at her.

 

Abigail watches them with a curious glance. Since Regina married into the White family, Snow and Regina’s relationship has been sour but this close and affectionate interaction signals a change so massive it’s baffling.

 

Then Snow says something that almost makes both she and Regina fall out of their chairs. “I think Enchanted should be yours.”

 

Silence falls upon them and it seems to make Snow way too amused. Regina shakes her head absently and Abigail watches them, eyes wide and mouth agape.

 

“Snow, I can’t—“

 

“You can.” Snow encourages, “I know you’ve been listening to my father and giving him ideas for _years_. You have the instincts, Regina.”

 

“I...” She huffs, at a loss for words, then leans toward Snow to grab her forearm. “That’s your father’s legacy. That’s for you to take ownership over.”

 

“Okay, then how about this: I own Enchanted and you run it for me?” Regina opens her mouth to protest even that but Snow cuts her off, “No, wait. Listen. I love politics, I studied politics, I work in politics. That’s what I want to do in life. I won’t run the show anyway. If you don’t want to run it, that’s fine. But if you do, the position is yours.”

 

* * *

 

Emma’s pacing up and down the hallway at the latest chef’s home when David finds her. After she hung up with Regina, she hopped into her Bug and drove to the apartment in the Bronx, where the crew had almost everything set up already. They’ve filmed half of the episode but Emma called for a break when her anxiety reached a level too extreme to ignore and stepped away from the kitchen.

 

“Hey, Em.” David slowly heads over to the other side of the hallway and leans back against the wall. He watches her for a few moments, not taking offense to her silence. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah... yeah, I’m good.” She says unconvincingly.

 

David quirks a brow. “You sure? You don’t look good. What’s got you wearing out the hardwood?”

 

Emma stops pacing and copies David’s stance on the wall opposite him. She crosses her arms and shrugs her left shoulder up. “My, uh, _girlfriend_ ,” She smiles, loving how the term flows, “She’s getting some news right now and I’m nervous for her, you know?”

 

David eyes her affectionately. “Yeah, I know what you mean. My girl has been going through a tough time lately and I’ve been a wreck.”

 

Emma’s mind flashes to Snow, huddled in her bedroom, refusing to talk or eat, and her suspicion only ramps up. Slyly, she says, “Oh, yeah? Did something happen to your fiancée?”

 

He looks startled by the mention of her but quickly recovers. To an unobservant eye, his reaction wouldn’t have been noticeable, but Emma’s been working closely with him for months.

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Her father got locked up recently. You know, Rey Midas?”  

 

_“Rey Midas is the CEO of Midas Banking...”_

 

_“I spoke to Abigail this morning and she’s devastated.”_

 

Well, shit. Emma chokes on air and coughs into her fist as a heavy hand slaps down onto her back. David’s watches her and rubs her back until Emma gives him the thumbs up. She croaks, “Oh wow, so you’re engaged to Abigail Midas?“

 

“You’ve heard of her?” David asks, genuinely intrigued. As strange as it may sound, David seems to actually care about Abigail, which makes this situation all the more bizarre. But the part that baffles her is that his relationship is supposedly for some kind of monetary gain. Who is David related to that would have a financial stake in a relationship with Midas but also be powerful enough to be able to strike a deal for marriage to combine their wealth? She shakes that off and returns to her original curiosity.

 

“Yeah, I’m good friends with Snow White, Leopold White’s daughter.” She searches his eyes for some hint or giveaway but he’s not taken off guard by the name. Then she remembers that everyone knows how she got this job, so her friendship with Snow wouldn’t be a shock, which makes her realize that both Snow and David have actively kept her out of the loop on this. But here’s the kicker she’s not sure he knows. “Abigail and Snow are actually long time friends. I think Snow told me they met as kids. Rey and Leo were real close.”

 

His eyes widen imperceptibly. _Bingo_.

 

“Oh wow!” His enthusiasm is about as real as her interest in the pictures of Robin’s newborn that the man keeps shoving in her face everyday. “Ha, it’s a small world, isn’t it?”

 

Emma hums knowingly. Luckily for David, her phone starts ringing and her attention is officially diverted from his guilty expression. She jerks her head toward the kitchen as she slips her phone from her pocket. “Tell them to give me a few minutes. Get some shots of the exterior for fade ins from commercial.”

 

He departs with a nod and when he’s fully out of sight, she accepts the call without looking at the caller ID. Regina’s still the only person that calls her. “Hey, how’d it go?”

 

“Emma,” She can practically feel the awe in the other woman’s voice. “I’m going to be alright.”

 

“Yeah? Did he leave a will?”

 

“No, thank goodness. If he did, I’d probably be out on the street with only the few outfits I moved in with.” Regina says what she knows to be true. Leopold never really cared about her as a human being. In fact, he showed more resentment than anything else, which still boggles her mind. “He didn’t take his lawyers advice—probably because she’s a young woman, if we’re being truthful—so no will. Snow and I are splitting his estate fifty-fifty.”

 

Emma sags against the hallway wall and let’s her eyes slip shut. “That’s great, Regina. I was kind of shaking in my boots over here.”

 

“I would’ve been fine either way, really.” Regina peeks behind her and sees Snow and Abigail speaking to one another in low tones in the dining room. “I apparently have people now.”

 

Emma smiles softly, “Just wait until you meet Mulan. You might wish you’d be left alone.”

 

“I doubt that. She’s the one that’s going to tell _all_ of your embarrassing college stories, so I think she and I will get along just fine.”

 

“On second thought, you don’t need another friend.” Emma’s smile brightens as laughter spills down the line. There’s a tentative tap on her shoulder and she twists to see Robin Hood standing there, hand still in midair and his face doing that expression that makes him look constipated. She rolls her eyes before he even has the chance to open his mouth.

 

“Miss Swan,” He says as he flips open his leather portfolio and pulls out a crisp sheet of paper, “the rules imposed by Mister Spencer are clear. Breaks are only allowed when it’s time for lunch or dinner, when someone on set has a medical emergency, or if equipment has malfunctioned. This,” He points his finger up and down her body, trying to act confident despite his hand shaking, “is simply unbecoming.”

 

“So is _this_ ,” She points at his face, “to my eyes.” Regina snorts. “Now, let me finish my call. Run along.”

 

Robin looks ready to combust but Regina saves him the embarrassment. “Go do your job. There’s actually something else I want to tell you but I want to see your face when I do so maybe we could FaceTime later?”

 

“A good thing?”

 

“Yes, a very good thing. Don’t worry.” Regina reassures lovingly. “Go on. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Emma hears some shuffling on the other line and quickly calls out to her. When Regina hums in acknowledgement, Emma curves her shoulders inward and leans into the wall to try to get some privacy from Robin’s prying ears. Delicately and shyly, she whispers, “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, my darling.”

 

The call drops and Emma slips her phone into her jean pocket before turning to find Robin even closer than he was before. “Woah, your _unbecomingness_ is all up in my personal space! Back up, would you?”

 

He nearly topples over when Emma pushes past him but he recovers quickly and jogs to catch up, waiting until they’re shoulder to shoulder in the long hallway before speaking up. “You’re in love, Miss Swan. That’s quite sweet.” Emma rolls her eyes and tries to swiftly turn the corner into the kitchen to try to lose him but he manages to keep up. “I remember when Marian and I first started dating. It was just as idyllic.”

 

“Mhmm,” Emma pretends to fiddle with one of the set cameras in hopes the ditzy British man gets the message. He doesn’t.

 

“But those idyllic times fade.” He says somberly. “Marian and I... we’re getting a divorce.”

 

“Good for her.” Emma retorts. He ignores her, seemingly stuck in his own head.

 

“She says I’m too controlling, if you can believe it!”

 

“No!” Emma yelps sarcastically, “You? Controlling?” Robin scoffs in that way that lets Emma know this is all going over his head and he actually thinks she’s agreeing.

 

Thankfully, David chooses that moment to enter the house with the chef in tow. Tiana Prince is a young black woman from the Bronx that owns and operates a food truck in Crotona Park. She’s also a close friend of Aurora’s. They both work at Rockefeller Research Laboratories in Lenox Hill and formed a bond that even Mulan is slightly jealous of, even if Tiana is heterosexual and Aurora has no interest in ever stepping out on her incredibly insane fiancée.

 

But while the woman is super intelligent and just might change the world through her work, she’s also an amazing and talented chef, and her food truck has received a lot of attention for her classic New Orleans cuisine from the locals.

 

“Ready to go viral, Tiana?”

 

“I was born ready.”

 

Emma smiles at her then turns to check the cameras when her eyes land on a shifty David. He’s a good guy but he’s acting like a douche. Maybe he deserves some discomfort.

 

She waits until everyone is in place then, “Action!”

 

* * *

 

Regina clutches her cellphone in her hand as she peeps over her shoulder to check on Abigail and Snow. The two are conversing amicable, albeit without much enthusiasm since both are afflicted with a debilitating depression over their respective situations. She decides to give them a moment alone and goes instead to the study and turns on the television, lowering the volume to a quiet rumble.

 

Unsurprisingly, there’s a rerun of _On The Dinner Table_ playing. It’s the first episode of the series, arguably the least entertaining one as well, but even with the disingenuous Hood family, Emma found a way to make it intriguing. She focused more on the charismatic actress and edited Robin’s involvement to a minimum, which was definitely defiant on the blondes part. From the beginning, Emma fought against the powers that be and perhaps that’s what drew Regina to her in the first place.

 

“Oh, my fiancé works on that show!” Abigail mentions excitedly, Snow trailing behind her languidly.

 

Regina twists on the couch to watch the blonde girl grin at the television and asks, “Oh? A friend of ours is the director.”

 

“You know _the_ Emma Swan?” Abigail chuckles, “David talks about her all the time! He really admires how she fought for what she believes in and took a gamble for it. She’s basically a superhero in his eyes!”

 

Regina sees Snow’s face turn a sickly grey and has to suppress a grimace to return Abigail’s smile. “I know her very well. So you’re engaged to this... David, was it?”

 

“Yes, David Nolan.”

 

“Ah, yes. Emma has mentioned him quite a bit. She seems just as fond of their rapport. How did you meet David? I don’t mean to offend but you’re the daughter of a tycoon and he’s a sound man on a cooking show.

 

“Oh, well, you’d be right in normal circumstances, I suppose. But he’s Albert Spencer’s stepson. We were matched up by our fathers,” Abigail explains. She turns to Snow, who hasn’t recovered, and asks, “So Emma is a friend of yours as well? Do you know David?”

 

“I, uh...” Snow clears her throat and straightens her spine, “I—yes, I do.”

 

Regina jumps up from the couch to go stand by Snow’s side. “Yes, we’re both good friends with Miss Swan but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting David. I believe Snow met him briefly at the Enchanted Ball?”

 

Regina discreetly elbows Snow’s side, making the younger brunette jolt, “Yeah! Yes, I met him at the balls—the ball. He’s a... a very charming man. You’re quite lucky, Abby.”

 

Abigail’s smile fades slightly but she nods in agreement. The blonde swings her purse onto her shoulder. “Well, call me if you need any further help with the logistics of the estate. I need to catch my flight back to New York but I can take your calls anytime, so don’t hesitate.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Midas. I appreciate you coming all this way to help us through this. You didn’t have to.” Regina walks Abigail to the foyer and opens the door for her. The lawyer nods politely to them both then takes her leave.

 

When Regina closes the door behind her, Snow is already mumbling expletives under her breath. She says, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

 

She doesn’t mention Emma’s suspicions or the conversations she’s had with her lover about this very topic, but Snow knows she’s been caught red handed. She gave it away when the color drained from her skin the moment Abigail mentioned his name.

 

“Regina, wait.” Snow calls out just as she starts to climb the steps. She stops and waits for Snow to gain the courage to say whatever she’s planning to. “I messed up again, didn’t I?”

 

When she turns, Snow is still standing in the foyer, her hands wringing and her eyes closed, and Regina exhales through her nose. “Snow... I don’t know what the answer is. I’m not exactly the right person to ask.”

 

“Because of you and Emma?” And no, that’s not what Regina was going to say. The situation with Emma, Leopold, and herself was significantly more complicated than Snow’s.

 

“No, not that.” Regina points toward the front door, “Because I’m not Abigail. We don’t know what their relationship is like, or if she’s also in love with someone else, or if she truly cares for David and believes they’re monogamous. I can’t tell you what’s okay and what isn’t. Only Abigail can.”

 

* * *

 

“One second, let me just take you in.”

 

“Emma—“

 

“Ah, ah, ah! I’ve had a day from hell and staring at you makes it better, so before we jump into whatever drama we both have experienced today, let me just look at you.”

 

The signal is so strong that the screen on her iPad is crisp enough to display every detail of the brunettes face vividly so when Regina blushes, Emma sees every dimple, wrinkle, and color of it and her chest tightens at the cuteness of it.

 

“Alright, _Miss Thang_ , what’s the news you wanted to share with me?” Emma leans back against her bed’s headboard and props her tablet against her thighs.

 

“Actually, before we discuss that, I think I should tell you the other situation I found myself in.” Regina quirks her brow, “Remember your conspiracy theory about your coworker and Snow?”

 

“It’s not much of conspiracy anymore. David nearly collapsed when I purposefully let it slip that his fiancée and Snow are actually friends.” Emma says and swallows the laugh that bubbles up when Regina’s jaw drops. She isn’t surprised that Snow and Abigail know each other, obviously, but the fact that Snow and David haven’t spoken enough about each other’s history and personal lives to know about their connection to Abigail is mind boggling.

 

The brunette checks the door to make sure she’s still alone in the guest room. She moved into the one Emma inhabited during the holiday after Leopold died. She got sick of smelling his cologne on the sheets, staring at the dried blood stain on the hardwood, and being surrounded by him and Eva all day and night. Once she’s sure Snow isn’t eavesdropping, she drops a bombshell of her own, “Well, Abigail was _here_.”

 

_“What?!”_

 

“She was Leopold’s lawyer, the one that came to explain the splitting of the estate!” Emma curses and Regina nods in agreement.

 

“Did Snow know she’s the fiancée?”

 

“No, not at first. She was quite taken aback when Abigail saw _On The Dinner Table_ playing on the television and commented that her fiancé, David, works on it. Snow turned paler than, well, snow.”

 

“And what did she say? What did she _do_?” Emma shifts on the mattress nervously. Despite how messed up the situation is, the last thing she wants is for Snow to lose a long time friend over some guy, no matter how great he is.

 

“She was a bumbling mess but I was able to usher Abigail out without incident. Once she was gone, Snow seemed contrite. She asked me what she should do.” Regina sighs as she folds her legs underneath her and settles fully onto the chaise. “I told her the only person that could help her get an answer to that question is Abigail and I’m fairly sure she left a bit ago to do just that.”

 

“ _Well_ , damn. I can’t believe we’re the least dramatic coupling in our orbit now.” Emma jokes through her concern. Snow could be getting her ass handed to her in an airport right now, but there’s nothing she can really do about it.

 

“Snow just had to one-up me.” Regina deadpans.

 

“We still have her beat, I think, but this is really nice.” Emma murmurs, and Regina immediately understands what she’s trying to say. Emma has had several people tell her that the secrecy and sneaking around is what made her relationship with Regina interesting and appealing, but she’s never felt as alive as she does now that she can call Regina her girlfriend, speak to her anytime, and send pictures and videos of her day without worrying about a lunatic husband.

 

The secrecy wasn’t what drew Emma in. Regina was and Regina still is.

 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough sap.” Emma sits up straighter and smiles at the brunette that makes her heart race. “Tell me your news!”

 

Regina wrings her hands on her lap and stares at them as she avoids Emma’s searching gaze. “Snow made me an offer today.”

 

“An offer about what?” Emma’s chest tightens at the sight of an unsure Regina. It’s a view she got used to seeing around Leopold.

 

“She wanted to give me Enchanted,” is muttered so softly that Emma has to strain to hear it, but when it computes, she nearly flies off her bed.

 

“She wanted you to own Enchanted?” Emma whispers, awed.

 

“She did, indeed.” Regina affirms. “And I said no.”

 

“What?!” Emma actually does jump off the mattress this time and starts pacing the length of her bedroom. “You could turn this company around, Regina. You’re so smart and you’ve got the instincts! You’re—“

 

“Emma—“

 

“You’re the one that convinced Leo to let me film at chefs homes, and you were talking about adding diversity when no one else would listen to me, and you know about the advertising—“

 

“Emma!” The blonde startles, her hand pressing against her chest as Regina sighs, “I know I can do it. You always told me I could and, little by little, I started to believe it too.”

 

“Okay... so?” Emma drags out both words, impatiently tapping her foot against the small rug by the foot of her bed.

 

“Leopold built that corporation and Snow deserves to have it. So I said no to owning it. But...” Regina smirks at Emma’s quirked brow and wide eyes, “But she offered me the position of CEO.”

 

“Regina...” The blonde rolls her eyes and Regina’s smirk grows. “I don’t need a buildup. I’m practically vibrating over here.”

 

“Save that for when I see you next.” She purrs.

 

“Regina...”

 

“Now, Miss Swan, is that any way to speak to your superior?”

 

Emma screams loud enough to alert the entire apartment building and Regina laughs so hard she gasps for air. “Are you serious?!”

 

“Yes, I will be moving down the New York to take over from Spencer.” The brunette squints at the blonde and asks, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

 

“What? Of course I am! I’m more than okay with this!” Emma exclaims.

 

“It’s just... I’ll be your boss and... what if it changes our relationship?” Regina shakes her head, trying to hide the sudden emotion in her eyes.

 

“Hey, look at me.” Emma states firmly and Regina immediately connects their gazes. Emma smiles softly at her. “This will change our relationship for the better, because having a career you enjoy will make you happy and that will make me happy. You hear me? Don’t ever deny yourself something good because of me. I’m here, through it all, and I knew I was getting involved with a badass to begin with, alright?”

 

“Alright.” Warmth floods Regina’s chest. Then, “And Emma?” Regina playfully leans into the tablet camera and winks at the grinning blonde as she seductively whispers, “My first order of business is... to fire Robin Hood.”

 

“Oh, god, _yes_. I love when you talk dirty to me.” Emma fakes a moan that still manages to arouse Regina enough to have her wiggling in her seat. “If you actually fire him, I’ll do whatever you want.”

 

“That sounds promising,” Regina quirks her brow. Her eyes go dull as she immerses in the possibilities.

 

“Hey,” Emma snaps her back into the present, “Should I still head up there next week? Maybe I could fly up, help you pack, and drive down to New York with you?”

 

“That sounds perfect.” Regina leans back against the chaise and snuggles into the corner, holding the throw pillow to her chest and propping her chin on the edge of it.

 

“Great...” Emma purses her lips to hold in a laugh then says, “So what’re you wearing?”

 

“You can see me, Emma.”

 

“I know. I just wasn’t sure how one initiates FaceTime sex.”

 

* * *

 

The mayoral mansion is completely hidden in the dark by the time Robert Gold limps his way through the back door.

 

“You’re late.” Cora’s gruff voice floats towards him. He turns his back to the room to shut the door and uses the chance to roll his eyes.

 

“Perhaps I should just go and leave you without the information you demanded.” Gold threatens lowly as he turns back toward the dark living room. He finally spots his lover at the other end of the room. She’s sipping on some scotch, her face impassive but her hand shaking.

 

“What did you find out?” She simply asks, choosing not to irritate him any more than he already seems to be.

 

Gold hobbles over to the empty armchair next to hers and lowers carefully. He props his cane against the liquor cart between them. “Well, Miss Midas was quite talkative. She seemed agitated with the White family—well, with Snow White particularly. She seemed fond of your daughter, however.”

 

“And this matters to me because?” Cora stares into her glass and crosses her legs.

 

Gold purses his lips. “Abigail informed me that Leopold did not have a will.”

 

He waits while she takes in the news with a sinister chuckle. “That imbecile. So Regina inherited half of his estate.”

 

“It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that you brushed up on inheritance law.” Gold scoffs.

 

“Well, this was always the endgame, _dear_ ,” She mocks. “The bastard simply offed himself so my hands stayed clean.”

 

“Clean...” Gold repeats with a disbelieving huff. After decades of being close to Cora Mills, he still finds himself constantly surprised by her lack of empathy and caring. He may be the head of an organized crime family, his hands may be dripping in blood from the long list of victims he’s left behind, but the mayor was a cold-blooded snake. At times, a trickle of fear would shoot through his body at the emptiness behind her dark eyes. She was a monster and he was complicit.

 

“What else did she say?” Cora fishes for more information and he hesitates. _He would be complicit._

 

“That’s all. She was too agitated to talk and hurried me off the phone.” Gold forces his face to stay neutral even as she stares him down, like she knows he’s lying. He casually pours some scotch into a glass and takes a hearty sip.

 

“No matter,” Cora whispers without a speck of emotion. “We inherited millions.”

 

“ _Regina_ inherited millions _._ ” He corrects smugly then points around the dark, empty room, “I don’t see her around. In fact, I haven’t seen her since Henry died. Perhaps she’s truly done with you. Now _that_ would certainly throw a wrench in your plans, wouldn’t it?”

 

Cora doesn’t take the bait. She continues to calmly sip on her scotch with a tepid smirk on her face. And he knows what she’s thinking, because they’ll spoken about it before. Regina is so desperate for her mother’s approval and all Cora needs to do is play nice for a bit. Regina will cave to her again.

 

So he isn’t surprised when Cora confidently sags into her armchair, props her arms on the armrests, and says, “That’ll be all, Gold.”

 

He doesn’t fight to get back on her good side, and subsequently get her on her back for him, and instead chooses to walk away. Tonight, he finds sex isn’t enough compensation for the guilt that swirls inside him every time he leaves this mansion. Not anymore.

 

He was complicit, but he’s not so sure he can be any longer.

 


	13. Chapter 13

_ To: Emma Swan _

_ From: Regina Mills _

_ Subject: Itinerary for your visit _

 

_ Since you’ll be spending a few days here at the mansion, I’ve typed up an itinerary to make sure we’re on the same page. It’s attached to this email. I’m sure you’ll be very pleased with my schedule. Oh, and please pack accordingly, darling ;) _

 

* * *

 

The day after Abigail’s visit, a solemn Snow leaves for Washington D.C. once more. While her internship supervisor had been understanding about the situation, she didn’t want to push her luck, even if her colossal fight with Abigail in the middle of an airport left her with no desire to get back to work. 

 

She departs that night and gives Regina a giant, bone-crushing hug that the older woman grits her teeth to get through. Snow won’t be back for a few months still so Regina promises to lock up the mansion when Emma takes her to her new apartment in New York City. 

 

Once Snow is long gone, Regina’s reminded of just how silent life can be when no one is around to make some noise. It reminds her of those lonely months where she walked on eggshells, waiting for Leopold to step in and take his aggressions out on her. Usually those memories bring melancholy, but she doesn’t feel that now. Maybe she’s grown a backbone or maybe it’s simply easy to be so confident when your nightmare has been squashed. Either way, instead of fear or anxiety, she feels empowered.

 

In a few days, she’ll be settling into a swanky apartment, transferring her millions of dollars to several bank accounts in the city, and she’ll have the blonde she loves in her arms as a cherry on top. For the first time, Regina looks to the future with unbridled excitement. 

 

She heads toward the kitchen and throws open her pantry. So many fatty options to gorge herself on, so little time. Just as she settles on a grilled cheese for lunch (it reminds her of Emma), her phone rings. She smiles and, without thinking to check the caller ID, answers it.

 

“Yes, darling? Did my itinerary  _ inspire _ you?” She teases as she grabs the loaf of bread from the cabinet and tosses it onto the kitchen counter.

 

The voice she hears stops her in her tracks, “I must commend you for not even waiting until his corpse was cold, dearie.”

 

She tenses, recognizing that voice anywhere. “Mister Gold... what do you want?” 

 

“I’m overwhelmed by your warm reception.” He replies drolly. “But it’s not what I want, it’s what I need to tell you.” 

 

“Alright, but enough with the games and riddles. Just spit it out.” Regina drags her feet to the refrigerator and slips two processed American cheese slices from the Kraft package. 

 

“It’s about your mother. As you know, she and I—“

 

“Yes, I’m very much aware, thank you.” Regina rolls her eyes. She will never get the image of her mother splayed on her back with a thrusting Gold between her thighs out of her head. Cora saw her and silently shooed her out of the room with the wave of her hand without stopping. It shattered her idyllic image of marriage forever... and she could never look at Gold without seeing his pale ass in the air. She shudders.

 

“Yes, well, there’s  _ that, _ ” Gold clears his throat, seemingly uncomfortable, “but she also worked for my organization for quite a long time, dearie.” 

 

“She worked at a steel mill, Gold. It’s a bit early for dementia, isn’t it?” She scoffs as she lifts a frying pan onto the stove and turns on the burner. 

 

“Regina, she may have told you otherwise, but she did work for me.” His breathing is labored over the line, like he’s expelling a lifetime of lies into the air.

 

Regina shakes her head, “In real estate? Why wouldn’t she tell us that? Because she wouldn’t... she wouldn’t have been involved with your other ventures...” The resounding silence that ensues makes Regina’s knees weak. “No...”

 

“She just did the bookkeeping and accounting. Nothing too nefarious.” That doesn’t make her feel any better. “But she was too ambitious for her own good. My organization... we use some of our money for community restoration. We funded the new community center and rebuilt the park, but it wasn’t enough for her. Cora was tired of not getting recognition for it.”

 

“She wanted to be mayor,” Regina swallows harshly. “She wanted her power to be publicized and recognized.”

 

“She did, but... this isn’t what I needed to say.” Gold exhales audibly, “She’s going to approach you very soon and attempt to worm her way back into your life. She won’t be genuine, Regina. She knows about the money that just fell into your hands and she wants a portion. Do not fall for it, dearie. I’m warning you.” 

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Regina’s question is breathy enough that Gold nearly misses it. She shoves the pan off the burner in her agitation and slams the stove dial to off.

 

“I’ve done so many horrible things and I never regretted a single one. I’ve killed, I’ve stolen, I’ve hurt the people I cared about, but I never gave it a second thought because they were all like me. We deserve what we get. We made our bed and now we lie in it. But you... I regret not speaking up for you. I regret not standing up in that church and objecting. I regret every day that I kept you in the dark. You were innocent. I was complicit.” His voice is full of fury and passion, a false bravado. She can sense his anguish and his sorrow beneath the facade and she doesn’t know what to think.

 

Regina’s mind is thinking at a mile a minute but one sentence catches her attention. “Kept me in the dark... about what? About my mother working for you or is it more than that?”

 

“So many things.” He responds cryptically, which frustrates the hell out of her.

 

“You can’t just leave me in the dark now, Gold.” Regina says it lowly, her voice gruff and stern. It’s a tone he’s never heard from her before. “You can’t just call out of the blue and drop some breadcrumbs and expect me to just take you at your word. You are a notorious liar and crook and, despite what you may think of me, I am  _ not _ a naive child, not anymore.”

 

“You married a man over thrice your age because you thought it would help your father. That is not the make of a naive child.” Gold’s tone is even and honest, and Regina’s chest tightens as she begins to realize that while this man was seemingly a negative influence on her life, perhaps she was a positive one in his. She’s unsure how to reconcile that. 

 

Then he clears his throat, like he knows the next words out of his mouth need to clear and concise. “When the United States got involved in Vietnam, they conducted a draft and your father was called to enlist in the military. He served for a year, spent most of it missing in action, and was discharged honorably after he was found in a Vietnamese base camp. He was a prisoner of war.”

 

“My father never—“

 

“It was such a small portion of his life and he never wanted to speak about it. I assumed it was perhaps too traumatic and he wished to put it behind him.” Gold pauses and hesitates but still forges on when Regina stays quiet. “Your father put it behind him but your mother... she never forgets and she never allows an opportunity to pass her by.” 

 

“I don’t understand.” Regina slides onto a stool at the kitchen island and rubs at her temples.

 

“Regina, prisoners of war have extensive health insurance and benefits.” He explains it so calmly yet Regina nearly loses the ability to breathe. Her skin heats, her vision blurs, her fingers curl into a fist, and she has so much anger and hatred flushing through her veins that she grits her teeth.

 

She doesn’t need more clarification but he punctuates it with, “Your father didn’t know that but your mother never lets an opportunity pass her by. She called Veteran Affairs and set everything up. The hospital in Seattle he went to was a veterans hospital where he received free medication and treatment. The price of your father’s treatments was never your burden to bear.”

 

“I... I married that bastard  _ for nothing? _ ” She swallows the bile rising in her throat and bites her tongue to stop the sob trapped in her lungs.

 

“Not for nothing, dearie. Leopold paid your mother a pretty penny every month.” Gold leans back in his armchair and waves a hand at his new housekeeper to signal she was free to serve him lunch. The young Australian girl tip toes into the room with a tray and slowly arranges the food.

 

Some delirious laughter bubbles up and Regina tries to stifle it with a hand over her mouth but she’s mostly unsuccessful. Through the chuckles, a wobbly  _ “My mother sold me” _ echoes through the empty kitchen and to Gold and Belle’s ears. The young maid stares at her polished shoes and the older man’s eyes slip shut, a guilt so stifling still constricting his chest.

 

Regina’s fingertips press down against her lips until she settles into a dazed state. Her entire world flipped on its axis just as she finally thought everything was coming together. A spark of bitterness zips through her and she mutters, “Why would you tell me this? Why?”

 

“You deserved to know—“

 

“No, I deserved a mother that wouldn’t sell me to an old bastard,” Regina growls. “But he’s dead, and my mother has lost all of her leverage. What’s the worst she could’ve done at this point? Taken a small chunk of my million dollars?”

 

“She doesn’t deserve a penny!” Gold yells into the phone suddenly, startling his maid who had begun pouring him something to drink.

 

“No, she doesn’t,” Regina concedes, which makes the older man settle back into his chair, but he grits his teeth as he senses that she isn’t finished. “But this phone call? It wasn’t to protect me, or make sure I wouldn’t fall to her manipulations, or about any of those noble reasons you concocted in your mind. You called and single handedly shattered the illusion that my misery at least had a purpose, which is what helped me live with the goddamn horrors I had to endure. And that doesn’t help me! No, this call was to  _ assuage your guilt. _ This phone call was about making  _ you _ feel better, not me.”

 

“Regina—“

 

“No! Enough!” Regina yells into the phone, loud enough to make Gold flinch. Then she softens her voice when she realizes she’s taking her frustrations toward her mother out of this man. “I’m...”

 

“It’s alright, dearie.” He mumbles sincerely, even though the words struck him. “Your mother will reach out soon. Just be prepared.” 

 

Regina exhales through her nose and her eyes fall shut, and the silence that befalls them is awkward but neither knows what to say. At least not until Gold realizes that his sins cannot be erased by simply coming clean.

 

“I need to...” He whispers it so quietly and hunches over slightly, trying to turn away from his maid, who’s eyeing him curiously, like she’s seeing him for the first time, “to apologize to you, Regina. I may not have committed the acts but I... I was complicit, and that’s just as horrid, some would say. I should’ve done more when it truly counted.” 

 

The anger drains from her as quickly as it came and some shame replaces it. Still, she just rubs at her neck—a habit she picked up from Emma—and whispers back, “Thank you.”

 

Just as the last syllable leaves her lips, a soft click startles her. She pulls the phone from her ear and stares at her home screen. He hung up on her. 

 

She stands from the stool, stares at the abandoned cheese and bread on the counter and shrugs. She’s not really hungry anymore. 

 

With his words still ringing in her head, she sprints to the front door, swipes her keys from the bowl and departs without hesitation. She refuses to be the prey. If her mother is planning a confrontation, she’ll just have to screw with her plans for once.

 

She’s pretty sure she breaks every traffic law in her haste to reach the mayoral mansion but she manages to get there unscathed and exhales heavily when she sees her mother's car in the driveway. Thinking about confrontation and actually doing it are completely different things, and, as she sits in her Mercedes and wraps her fingers around the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white, she thinks about the scar on her upper lip.

 

Her mother had gotten home early from work— _ Regina scoffs at that and tightens her hold on the steering wheel— _ and found her covered in mud up to her knees after a long morning of riding and racing horses with her father. Her father had attempted to hide her but they were both caught off guard by her presence and Cora saw everything she needed to before they even realized she was in the house. 

 

At that moment, she had just  _ tsked _ and demanded Regina hop into a shower than hand wash her riding gear as punishment, which wasn’t a big deal and Regina smirked as she ran upstairs, thinking she got off easy. But once she was tucked into her bathroom, disrobed and vulnerable, Cora snuck in and made sure to lock her bedroom door in case Henry came looking. 

 

Regina saw her in the mirror and shivered at the cold, deadly stare burning in her. Then, before she could even blink, Cora lunged and threw her into the large mirror, which cracked the second her face bashed into it. A small loose piece of the mirror nicked her upper lip badly and covered the bathroom counter with splotches of blood. Then Cora had stepped back, waited until Regina’s frantic eyes met hers again, and told her to never disobey her ever again. The  _ or else _ didn’t have to be explicitly said. 

 

Her entire life has been driven by the fear she has of her mother. Going against her left scars, physically and mentally, and sitting in front of her home, contemplating whether to turn the Mercedes back around, she suddenly feels weak again.  She’s suddenly that young girl curled into a ball on her bathroom floor, holding a piece of toilet paper to her upper lip and wishing she was strong enough to fight back.

 

But then her phone vibrates in her pocket and she remembers that she isn’t alone. She isn’t that young, helpless, lonely girl anymore. She isn’t dependent on her mother or on a husband, and she holds all the leverage now. Her mother lost hers when Henry’s heart stopped. 

 

Those thoughts carry her to the front door and give her the courage to knock. It only takes a few moments before a middle aged maid—the one Regina would catch sneaking out from her father’s bedroom when she went to investigate the incessant creaking sounds that woke her up—answers the door. She almost sneers at the devastation she can spot on the woman’s face but with a jolt, she realizes that this woman cared for her father in a way Cora never could. 

 

“Miss Mills...” The woman, who goes by the nickname Cookie, shuffles nervously as she stares at Regina. When Regina first caught them, Cookie would get extremely anxious around her, like she feared Regina would tattle. She should’ve known that even if Regina did tell Cora, nothing would’ve happened to her. Cora didn’t care who rode her husband as long as she kept the affair confined to the house and kept her lips sealed about it. But Cookie is consistently antsy and jumpy, and Regina was never able to get close with her.

 

“Hello, Maria.” Regina greets her stoically. She’s still unsure how to act around this woman who was most likely in love with her father. She pushes the door open wide so she can slip through, pushing past the woman gaping at her. “Please tell my mother I’ll be waiting for her in the study.” 

 

She makes her way to the ornate study where her mother usually retired to at the end of the day. It was always her designated area. In fact, she never allowed the maids to enter, not even to clean or mop the floors. Regina ponders that and, armed with the new information on her mother, wonders what skeletons must be buried there.

 

She notices two used glasses sitting out on the liquor cart, one drained of all liquid but marked by red lipstick stains on the rim while the other is still half-full, like someone only took a sip then left in a hurry. The weirdest part is that her mother didn’t even bother to clean it up. 

 

She takes a step toward the glasses but a saccharine voice stops her midway. “Regina, dear! I wasn’t expecting you.” 

 

_ Clearly,  _ Regina wants to say, eyeing just how unkempt the study is. She bites her tongue though. Provoking Cora from the get-go isn’t the best strategy. 

 

“Yes, sorry about that, mother.” Regina swivels to fake a smile at the older woman, who’s giving as good as she’s getting. Cora throws out her arms in a silent invitation for an embrace but Regina pretends to misunderstand and just pecks her quickly on the cheek. The less contact at the moment, the better. She steps back and folds her arms. “I figured we’ve both had enough time to grieve separately and wanted to catch up.  _ So _ much can happen in a few weeks.”

 

“Indeed.” Cora’s smile widens and it looks so forced on her face. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Regina chooses to skip right over that obvious falsity and be a tad passive aggressive. She pats the back of the armchair where her mother usually sits to have a drink and stare into the fireplace. “Mother, why don’t you come take a seat? You look positively dead on your feet.”

 

Cora’s smile morphs into a combination of a grimace and a grin but it lacks the disingenuous joy her mother had managed to enter the room with. Satisfied with that reaction, Regina just pats the chair again, her movements eerily reminiscent of how a dog owner coaxes their dog onto the couch. 

 

“I’m fine, dear.” Cora waves her hand and stubbornly stays rooted to her spot by the doorway. “Being mayor simply keeps me too busy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

 

Unlike Cora, Regina does sit down, taking residence on her mother's favorite armchair and purposefully dragging her gaze around the room with a touch of judgement until it falls on the full glass next to her on the liquor cart. Regina furrows her brow, pretending to be caught off guard by it, and asks, “Did you have company?” 

 

Cora smoothly lies, “Oh, no, dear. I suppose I went a bit overboard last night. It’s just...” The older woman purses her lips and fakes a strain in her voice, “been very difficult without your father around.”

 

Regina bites her tongue just so she doesn’t scream. Cora never loved her father. She wasn’t capable of it. Regina sees that now. She nods even though she can spot that lie a mile away. “Be careful, mother. I hear that’s a slippery slope.” 

 

Cora stares at her for a few terse seconds, that politicians smile still painted on her lips, before finally swinging the study door closed and walking further into the room. Regina has to admit that the barrier between them and everyone else gives her some pause. 

 

“My dear, I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.” Cora says as she leans back against her desk that’s clear across the room from where Regina is sitting. “I should’ve been there when you met with that bimbo of a lawyer to make sure you didn’t get cheated out of what’s yours.”

 

“Abigail was quite thorough and lovely.” Regina mutters defensively. The young blonde woman took time out of her busy schedule to fly to Maine and walk them through everything they needed to know. She didn’t deserve to be insulted, especially by her mother, who has never met the girl. “And I wasn’t cheated. I did just fine.” 

 

“Thank goodness,” Cora shakes her head. “I’ll be out of the mayor's office by January, so no more mansion or weekly paycheck. My two terms flew by.” Regina purses her lips. Of course the years flew for Cora. She was handed a cushy job and a fancy mansion while Regina was thrusted into a living hell. The lack of remorse or guilt on her mother's face is enough to send a shudder down her spine. “All of that hard work and I’d still be right back where I started if it weren’t for you, Regina.”

 

Eight years have come and gone, so much has changed, but it’ll always be like this between them. Their relationship is a game of chess, of strategy, with mother and daughter attempting to one-up each other. Regina’s tired of it. She’s sick of the constant battles, the arguments, the sacrifices. For once, she wants to  _ win _ . 

 

“You sound confident, mother.” Regina drops her false civility but stays cool, calm, and collected. She even reaches over and takes the empty glass with her mothers lipstick stains on the rim and pours herself two fingers worth of liquor while Cora watches her with a serious but indecipherable look. 

 

Regina clarifies, “I mean to say that I earned that money. I was the one that cooked, and cleaned, and was forced to take him from behind when he saw fit to torture me, and you silently stood by—hell, you berated me for being miserable. So...” Regina takes a hearty sip from the stained glass, her eyes never straying from her mothers, whose gaze was hardening with every syllable uttered, “I’m simply baffled at how confident you are that I’ll fork over any money, let alone enough for you to sustain this lifestyle  _ Leopold _ built for you.” 

 

Silence befalls them. Then a cold, calculating chuckle breaks it. “You don’t want to play this game with me.” 

 

“Mmm,” Regina hums into the glass, throws back the rest of the alcohol, then tosses the heavy glassware onto the cart, not caring a bit when it chips against the decanter. She leans back and crosses her legs. “I think I do.”

 

“You insolent little—“

 

“Tell me, mother. What’s it like to spend years carefully building a house of cards only to see a storm on the horizon?” Regina smirks at the anger she sees. “Hmm, yes, I thought so.”

 

Just as Regina stands, Cora appears in front of her with fisted hands and thin lips and scrunched eyebrows. She snaps, “I always did what I thought was best for you! I encouraged you to marry him and play the role because I knew this day would come! He never took care of himself, that boneheaded bastard, and I knew you would stand to inherit enough to be comfortable your entire life, and this is the thanks I get?”

 

Regina scoffs, “I could’ve gotten an education, had a career—“

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Cora hisses, “I worked my entire life and look where that got me! I didn’t want this for you! I didn’t know he would hurt you, Regina. I’ve been waiting for this day too, the day where you’d be free and we could finally profit off of him.”

 

“You’ve been waiting to profit?” Regina leans back incredulously. “Mother, I know  _ everything _ ! I know he was paying you!”

 

Cora’s face twists into a convincing expression of confusion, “Excuse me?” 

 

Regina swats away a hand reaching for her. “Leopold was paying you monthly for your silence! You’ve been profiting for nearly a decade. I  _ know _ , mother.”

 

Cora glares at her and crosses her arms, “Where did you hear such ludicrous drivel?” Regina exhales, frustrated, and doesn’t answer. Then Cora’s expression opens, a knowing glint in her eyes as she says, “Gold.” Regina looks away and Cora scoffs. “Really, dear? You’re going to believe that heathen over your own mother?”

 

“Don’t place yourself on a pedestal. You aren’t any better.” 

 

Cora freezes and her eyes become glossy, so much so that Regina tenses. “I lied earlier. I wasn’t alone last night. Robert was here and I... I told him we couldn’t see each other anymore. After coming back from the morgue, seeing how quiet and lonely the house was without your father, I realized that I took him for granted, and I couldn’t settle for a man like Gold. He didn’t seem upset last night but he must’ve been if he worked so hard to turn my only child against me.”

 

Regina deflates. “Mother... I...”

 

“I know I haven’t been the best mother, Regina, but I would never do that to you.” A tear trails down Cora’s cheek and she quickly wipes it away. 

 

Regina stares at her, unsure what to do with herself. She doesn’t move to comfort her and when Cora clears her throat, she says, “I’m sorry... I didn’t think—”

 

“No, you don’t. You never do.” Cora says, her eyes hardening again like all those traces of vulnerability were never even there to begin with. “You always resented me, always preferred your father, but I was the one looking out for your best interests! I was the one fighting for your success!”

 

“I don’t want to fight—“ Regina tries to interject but Cora lunges forward to wrap her hand around Regina’s neck and squeezes just enough to hinder her breathing.

 

“You came here looking for one, dear, with your smugness and total belief in accusations whispered in your ear by a crazed mobster.” That hand tightens for a few seconds and Regina struggles to breathe. Then Cora is pushing her away. “You think I’m so awful? You haven’t seen awful. I could make your life hell.”

 

Regina presses her wobbly hand against her throat to rub at the soreness. With the last bit of bravado she has left, she manages to whisper, “You already have, mother.”

 

She’s gone before Cora can even open her mouth, slamming the front door closed behind her and screeching away in her Mercedes. In the rear view mirror, she sees her mother storming outside and yelling, and she just knows this war between them needs to come to an end. But there’s no resolving this.

 

So when she parks a few blocks away from the mayoral mansion and clicks on a contact on the top of her recent calls, she knows what has to be done.

 

“Regina?” Gold asks immediately, seemingly stunned to hear from her so soon.

 

“You wanted to assuage your guilt?” Regina says as she absentmindedly caresses her bruised neck, “Then help me get rid of her.”

 

“Get rid of—what happened?” Gold stutters. Regina would laugh at his surprise but her adrenaline is viciously pounding through her veins and she can’t focus on anything expect her goal.

 

“She tried to manipulate me into thinking you were a jealous ex-lover out to ruin her relationship with her child, and I almost believed her.” 

 

“Almost?”

 

“I believed her until she wrapped her hands around my throat...” She swallows a sob, “And I remembered his hands on me, his body crushing me, his mouth on my skin, and I realized that it didn’t matter if she got paid or if it was for my father’s treatments. She sold me, like a damn object, when she could’ve gotten another job or told me to go out and work. And even if you were just trying to ruin our relationship... I believed you as soon as you said it. Was there a relationship to even ruin?”

 

Gold’s eyes slip shut at the despair he hears through the line. “What do you want me to do, dearie? Name it.”

 

“I don’t know. I just want her out of my life. I want her to pay for what she put me through. I want—“ Regina cuts off the rest with a sigh. Then finishes with a weary, “Please...”

 

She ends the call.

 

* * *

 

Days pass without word from Gold or her mother and it sets her on edge. Cora’s threat to make her life hell weighed heavily on her mind since she arrived home that afternoon because it didn’t just involve her. She has people she loves and cares about that her mother could use against her. 

 

Emma notices her skittishness over their phone calls and eventually pries it all out of her one night. Unlike Regina, the blonde was absolutely shocked by the tale Gold spun, most likely because she barely knew Cora first hand. Though Emma later said, “I know all about abusive parents. The system was riddled with them... but to literally sell your kid to some old bastard so you can pocket some cash? That’s not just abusive, Regina. That’s heartless.”

 

Emma keeps her sane throughout the handful of days she’s alone at the mansion, even if she still jumped at every creak she heard in the settling house. It’s ridiculous, really. Her mother wouldn’t send someone to kill her... right? She locks the guest room door every night just in case. 

 

“Are you sure that’s enough, Gina?” Emma joked, “They could scale the side of the house like an Assassin’s Creed character and get in through the window!”

 

Regina grabbed a hammer and some nails after she hung up and nailed the window shut. 

 

But her paranoia melts away completely the moment Emma’s in her arms. The blonde flies into the mansion, disheveled and smiling widely enough to look goofy, and Regina forgets all about Gold and her mother. She doesn’t even think about it when Emma pokes fun at her by pretending to stab her with an imaginary knife while screeching the rhythm of horror music. 

 

“Idiot.” Regina huffs playfully as she grabs the hand holding the invisible knife and pulls the blonde into her arms. Emma hooks her arms under Regina’s ass and lifts until Regina’s legs wrap around her waist.

 

“I would hold that against you if I wasn’t so damn eager to get started on your itinerary.” Emma carries Regina toward the staircase, leaving her mini suitcase in the foyer. 

 

Regina smirks as she knowingly purrs, “Did you come prepared?”

 

“Oh, I basically overachieved for the first time in my life, Miss Mills.” Emma grins cheekily. It’s supposed to be cute but the insinuation in her words has Regina shuddering with desire. 

 

“Hmm, looks like the start time of our activities is...” Regina brings her bare wrist up in the air and pretends to check the time, “right about now, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma throws her weight forward and slams Regina against the wall before bringing their lips together. Regina moans, squeezing her thighs around Emma’s hips and grinding her core against hard abs. 

 

“Where is it?” Regina mumbles against Emma’s lips. She’s momentarily distracted by Emma’s hand dropping down from the back of her head to her breast to squeeze softly. Until...

 

“There’s a few in my suitcase.” Emma pauses to tenderly kiss the small scar on her lovers upper lip, the one she’s severely attracted to, then clarifies, “I figured we could take them all for a test drive to see what you like best.” 

 

Regina’s lowered slowly so Emma can retrieve said suitcase. They eagerly make their way to the guest room where they first made love and Regina watches intently as Emma lays her suitcase on the ground and unzips it. Her eyes widen when Emma digs under her clothes and starts pulling out at least eight silk bags of different colors, shapes, and sizes. 

 

“I got some looks at the sex shop.” Emma says with a breathy chuckle, “All very proud looks, though. I’m pretty sure they thought I was a swinger or something.” 

 

Regina reaches down and picks up the bag closest to her. It’s a small pink one with black drawstrings on the top. She pulls on the strings and peers inside to see a small, smooth black dildo with a thin leather harness and straps.

 

“I, uh, made sure they weren’t realistic or anything. No flesh tone, no—“

 

“Put it on.” Regina thrusts the bag into Emma’s hand, reaches for her blouse and starts unbuttoning as quickly as she can, and Emma... never moved so fast in her entire life. 

 

By the time Emma’s down to her bra and panties, Regina’s completely nude on the bed with her legs spread for Emma’s viewing pleasure, and Emma’s fingers start to tremble when she sees Regina’s eager hand tweaking her nipples. If her eyes don’t deceive her, the brunette is already so wet, not that Emma’s very far behind. 

 

She’s been wanting Regina since Christmas and touching herself hasn’t satiated her, so just being able to kiss and touch her in this intimate way was enough to bring her to the precipice. This closeness and intimacy eluded them during her visit for the funeral since they were too preoccupied with the event and a somber Snow to do much else than kiss chastely. 

 

She slips into the harness and clicks the dildo into place then climbs onto the mattress, sliding between Regina’s open legs to drape her torso on the brunette’s and press their bodies together. 

 

She says, “You feel uncomfortable at any point and you say the word, okay? I won’t be upset or disappointed. This is about you.” Regina bites her lip and nods with some hesitation. Emma catches it and brings a hand up to cup Regina’s cheek gently. “I’d rather stop than keep going while you’re not into it. I want this to be pleasurable for us  _ both _ .” 

 

Regina’s nod is more certain this time and it’s accompanied by a small, but loving, smile. Emma leans down to kiss those lips but pulls back before she gets distracted. She asks, “How do you want me?” At Regina’s confusion, she clarifies, “Which position?”

 

She remembers large, rough hands flipping her onto her stomach and holding her down, and she blurts, “I need to see you. I need to know it’s you.”

 

Emma’s expression falls a bit but she tries to cover it up by tucking her face into the crook of Regina’s neck. It’s not disappointment that makes her eagerness stutter, it’s the unadulterated rage toward Leopold that bubbles up when she registers what the brunette is subtly hinting at. But then she realizes that Regina’s in good, caring hands now. That Leopold can’t hurt her anymore. Still, a piece of her wants to dig him up and bring him back just to kill him all over again, because no matter how much love anyone shows Regina, she will never forget her marriage and the horrors she had to withstand for eight years. 

 

And the last thing she wants to do is show any hesitance to do this. Regina specifically asked Emma to bring a strap on during this trip. Her infamous itinerary is a long list of sexual activities and several spots in the mansion she wants to christen. In the past, sex wasn’t something pleasurable for Regina, so the fact that the brunette is so eager, willing, and proactive in their sex life makes her heart beat just a little bit faster because it tells Emma that this woman trusts her explicitly. 

 

“Emma?” She hears the tentative whisper and immediately tries to assuage the worry she spots in Regina’s tone with a kiss to her pulse point. 

 

Emma leans back and reaches down to drag her finger through Regina’s slit, checking to see if the brunette is slick enough for penetration. She absolutely is and Emma wishes she could feel smug but she’s practically dripping as well. She positions the head of the smooth toy at her entrance then leans forward to prop her hands on each side of Regina’s head. “You okay?” 

 

The snappy “ _ I’m not made of glass, Emma _ ” startles her but Regina doesn’t take it back or look guilty. She actually slaps her hands on Emma’s ass and presses down until the tip of the toy enters her. Her mouth falls open soundlessly but she manages to whisper, “Make me feel good, darling.” 

 

She starts off slow and steady, inching into her little by little, encouraged by the breathy whimpers that accompany every movement. Regina’s hips start to move, silently begging for more, and Emma speeds up to match her rhythm. She slowly gains more momentum and thrusts hard enough to sheath the entire length of the toy inside the brunette. 

 

“ _ Emma... _ ” is whispered into her ear and a shiver zips down her spine. She kisses her, hard and demanding, until she can’t breathe. Regina pulls her back in and bites on her lower lip as Emma’s pace quickens again. She’s thrusting so hard that the bed is creaking incessantly, which is turning her on even more for some reason, and banging against the drywall. Regina shrieks when Emma finally finds the perfect angle to stimulate her g-spot.

 

“ _ Oh, fu—oh!”  _ Regina’s starting to get loud and her hips are losing their rhythm so Emma leans back on her knees, grabs supple tan hips, and starts pounding into her, which makes Regina practically scream. She waits a few seconds to let her acclimate to the new position then runs her hands down Regina’s body, pulling on taut nipples on the way, to rub tiny, quick circles around her engorged clit. 

 

It only takes a few moments before the brunette’s back snaps into an arch, her legs tighten around Emma’s back, her thighs tremble, and her hands seek purchase on the bed sheets, her nails digging into the mattress with enough ferocity to make Emma worry about the integrity of the memory foam. She slows down gradually then stops when Regina’s fingers  let go of the sheets to press against the mattress. 

 

And Regina lies there stunned for a few moments, breathing heavily, because, well, now she knows the phallus wasn’t the problem. The problem was who it was attached to.  She lifts her head to look between her thighs, where Emma is pulling out carefully, and she moans. Yes, a phallus standing proudly between fleshy hips with its tip poking a feminine tummy and pert breasts framing the top of her vision is quite an appealing sight. 

 

“We’re definitely trying the strapless vibrating one next cause seeing that just did  _ things _ to me.” Emma whistles as she palms Regina’s sweaty thighs and Regina can’t hold back her slightly sinister laugh. 

 

Emma smacks her breast playfully then hops off the bed to dig through the bags she tossed around the floor. When she can’t find them in the pile closest to the bed, she sighs and jogs over toward the window where one black bag sits alone. That’s when she notices something.

 

“Is this window  _ nailed shut? _ ”

 

_ “ _ No.” Regina lies smoothly, then, “Emma, hurry up. I’m so ready for you, darling.” 

 

“It _is_. I’m looking at it.” Emma turns to the window and pretends to analyze the nails to hide her amusement. Except that Regina see her smiling in the reflection of the glass. 

 

“It most likely came with the house...” Regina crosses her arms, “Just like I’d like to come for you again, Miss Swan. Get away from there.”

 

“It wasn’t like this when I was here, you liar!” Emma chuckles but doesn’t test her luck. She picks up the bag, shimmies out of the harness, then dives back on the bed, making them both bounce on the mattress. “Okay, I found her.”

 

“ _Her?_ ” Regina smirks like the asshole she is. “Should I be worried?” 

 

“You’re better than any sex toy, Gina,” Emma bats her eyelashes and hopes that wins her some points. Regina softens slightly, but that teasing grin doesn’t drop. Well, you win some, you lose some. “Well, you said you wanted to christen this hell hole. So... where to?” 

 

Regina sits up and quirks her brow in that way that could bring Emma down to her knees. “Leopold’s office.” 

 

And that’s not what Emma expected. She expected her to say Snow’s bedroom or something equally as evil and vengeful. But, hey, she isn’t about to question it. 

 

Regina’s body thrums with excitement as they practically sprint to the office downstairs. To Emma, it perhaps seems like an odd choice, but Leo’s office is where she first watched two women together and realized that might be what she wanted. It was also Leo’s and gives her the chance to tar something that was his without stepping foot in that bedroom. 

 

When Emma lifts her onto the desk and starts to pepper small kisses across her chest, Regina pushes back. Emma watches curiously as the brunette hops off the desk and turns, propping her hands on the desk and pushing her curvaceous ass back to slot perfectly against Emma’s hips. 

 

“Regina?” Emma needs to hear verbal confirmation. Maybe someday she won’t feel the need to check in every two seconds but, for now, Emma needs to know that each action she takes is something Regina really wants. 

 

“I want you to.” Regina whispers. She peers over her shoulder at the concerned blonde and says, “Just... keep talking to me. I just need to know it’s you, that’s all.” 

 

_ That’s all.  _ Emma sighs and gives her a look. Regina growls at the hesitance and rips the silk bag from Emma’s hand and starts hastily tugging the strapless dildo from it. Emma wraps her hand around Regina’s.

 

“Hey, it’s okay—“

 

“No, it’s not!” Regina snaps, finally swiveling to face the blonde. “I’ve had really terrible, scarring sexual experiences and I will never forget it, but I don’t want to be treated like I’m about to fall apart! I love you, you idiot, and I want you to touch me, to make love to me, to help me make memories that combat the ones I’ve had. So, yes, I need you to talk dirty to me because I need to know it’s you, the person I love and trust, and not him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready or that I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I’ve been deprived of good intimacy and sex for years, and I do want this with you. Badly.  _ Now _ .”

 

Emma feels thoroughly scolded... and kind of embarrassed at how she’s been tip-toeing around Regina when it came to sex. She’s starting to understand that she has to trust what Regina tells her she’s okay with. In her state of concern, she’s creating more obstacles and making it harder on the brunette.

 

“I’m sorry.” Emma blurts out and Regina sighs softly, her hand reaching up to run the back of her hand down Emma’s blushing cheek.

 

“I know it comes from a place of concern, but I’m good. I have you, don’t I?” And that’s quite possibly one of the sweetest sentiments Emma’s ever received. Then she veers from sweet, leaning in to Emma’s person space and whispering, “Now, take me.” 

 

Something clicks in Emma’s mind. She grabs Regina by the hips and flips her to put the brunette in the same position as earlier, kicking her feet apart as she goes. She feels Regina tense and says, “I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

 

Regina relaxes and nods eagerly. When Emma rubs the brunette’s clit gently with one hand while she inserts the strapless dildo into herself, Regina’s breathing gets too heavy so Emma tells her she loves her over and over until her breathing is ragged from emotion instead. 

 

When she positions the tip of the purple toy at Regina’s drenched entrance, she notices Regina’s shoulders become rigid and she runs her fingers through short brown hair and leans forward to whisper, “I can’t wait to be inside you. It’s gonna feel so fucking good.” 

 

Her shoulders raise up and her head falls to the desk as a moan falls from her mouth and Emma smirks. She’s never been loud or vocal in the bedroom but the level of closeness and comfort it brings Regina has her falling into this role easily. 

 

She enters her hard and fast, and Regina whimpers until Emma grabs her hair and pulls her back against Emma’s torso so she can feel globed flesh and taut nipples against her back. She nearly keens. But nothing compares to the sounds that come from both of them when Emma switches on the vibration. And at that point, Regina doesn’t need much reassurance. 

 

Emma uses one arm to wrap around Regina’s upper chest to keep them connected from head to toe and wraps the other around Regina’s hip to tap on her clit periodically. She waits until she feels her own orgasm start to build from the ribbed piece extending up from the phallus to stimulate her clit before she starts rubbing right circles around Regina’s. 

 

She keeps pounding into the brunette hard enough to make her full ass bounce with every stroke and the sight is enough to nearly send her over the edge. Regina has turned her head so she can moan, high pitched and lacking any semblance of control, into Emma’s ear. She tries to claw at the corners of the desk for something to hold on to before giving up and reaching back to dig her nails into Emma’s upper thigh. It’s all too much. Emma’s so close to coming, so she speeds up her circles on Regina’s clit and stretches the fingers of the arm wrapped around the brunette’s heaving torso to pinch the nipple closest to them.

 

It all pays off because they both start trembling and moaning loudly at the same time, both coming  _ hard _ . 

 

Regina isn’t even done shaking when she connects their lips and mumbles, “I want to ride you.” 

 

“Hell yes,” Emma voice squeaks like a prepubescent.

 

“In Snow’s bed.” 

 

_ And there it is.  _

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! This is basically an epilogue. Thank you for reading the whole story and giving me a chance. I know I'm not well known or have the same abilities as some of our writers (because we have some amazing creators in this fandom), so thanks for sticking with me this far.

They end up renting a U-Haul truck—which makes Emma giggle like the immature child she is—and rigging her Mercedes to the back of it. She had accumulated a lot of belongings over her eight years of residence at the mansion and miscalculated just how many boxes she’d need. Oddly enough, she found she was a bit tearful as she climbed into the truck and watched Emma heave the last few boxes into the back of the truck. She called it the house of horrors but that house had some pleasant memories too.

 

Her father used to visit her more before his illness started progressing and zapping away his energy. They would have long talks by the pond and take strolls in the backyard during the summer, and cuddled up in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa and poke fun at just how ostentatious the White family was. 

 

Despite their rocky, bitter relationship, there were a few memories with Snow that she treasured, even if she used to hate how much she did. She taught Snow to appreciate Vivaldi and classical music in the study of that mansion. She taught her how to ride a bike on the front sidewalk when she was fifteen because Leopold and Eva never did. 

 

And, of course, her memories with Emma were ones she would never forget. She called Emma all those months ago from the quiet den on the second floor and blushed into those couch cushions as the blonde made her feel heard for the first time in her life. She first saw Emma in person in the foyer of that mansion. She made love with her for the first time in that house. 

 

So leaving wasn’t as easy as she thought, but once Emma pulled onto the highway and blasted Vivaldi like it was a rock song, she forgot about the things she left behind and started treasuring the idea of what was to come. 

 

Though she will say that the last thing she expected her future to contain was a stop at a seedy roadside diner near Boston. It’s a tiny building right off of I-95 that Emma begged her to go to. 

 

“The food is amazing, Regina! Just trust me!” She said as she pulled off the highway.

 

Now, sitting inside the dilapidated establishment, she’s wondering what she let Emma Swan drag her into. The interior is just awful with its green and yellow wallpaper and odd decor. Their booth appears clean even though it’s leather is torn in several spots. Regina just sends a prayer to whichever deity is out there that she doesn’t contract anything during this little detour. 

 

“Relax, would you?” Emma says, amusement clear in her voice. “You’re all tense.”

 

“Yes, well, I hear you’re supposed to stay very still when faced with something dangerous.” Regina sniffs and narrows her eyes at a suspicious copper stain on the tile by her feet. 

 

“That‘s for facing, like, a  _ bear _ .” Emma reaches across the table to take hold of Regina’s wrists and shake her arms to try to help her relax. “I promise it’ll be worth it. This place has rough edges but it’s a diamond in the rough. Kind of like me.” 

 

“Except you’re pretty to look at, darling.” Regina mutters, completely unconvinced. 

 

The waitress wobbles over to them, her hand on her back to support her large baby bump, and snaps her gum as she drops menus on the table. Her red hair stands out in the drab room but her lazy demeanor fits right in. She drones in a strong English accent, “Welcome to  _ The Wicked Good Eatery _ . May I take your order?”

 

“You may... I’m just not sure I want to take that risk.” Regina replies sarcastically. Emma kicks her shin under the table.

 

The waitress just snaps her gum again. “I’ll give you a few minutes for food. You want water or something?”

 

“Is the water from the tap?” Regina asks with a scrunched nose.

 

“It’s water.” The waitress shrugs, “It hasn’t killed me yet.” 

 

Emma groans into her palms. This isn’t  _ helping _ . She checks the name tag pinned to the waitresses ensemble and says, “We’ll have bottled water. Thank you, Zelena.” 

 

The red head shrugs and runs off before the thanks are even out of her mouth, but Emma’s just relieved she’s gone. The horrified expression stays firmly planted on Regina’s face though, so she decides to go another route to convince her to stay.

 

“Want to hear how I came across this place?”

 

“Did the staff kidnap you for ransom?” 

 

“ _ Regina _ .”

 

Emma’s voice has lost all amusement and that’s the exact moment Regina realizes she’s being quite snobbish about something her lover was eager to show her. She sheepishly clears her throat and gestures for Emma to continue with her story. “Sorry. Go on.” 

 

“I was fifteen, hitchhiking on the shoulder of I-95, trying to get away from Boston. The foster home there was particularly bad. The husband... he was handsy in every sense of the word.”

 

“Emma...” Regina mumbles in that way that signals she’s at a loss for words.

 

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.” Emma waves off her concern. “Anyway, I was running again, like I always did when social services wouldn’t listen to me, and I was starving since I’d been walking for at least a twelve hours and hadn’t eaten in about twenty four.”

 

“And you saw this place?” Regina leans her elbows on the table, relaxing into the booth for the first time since she sat down. She’s too enraptured by the new information she’s getting to worry about anything else. 

 

Emma nods, “I saw it’s quirky sign from the highway and thought a tiny place like this would be an easy hit. You know, sneak in to the Kirov jen and steal a plate from the line. The owner was here though and she watched me like a hawk. I thought she was going to toss me out on my ass but she looked me up and down, noticed how skinny I was, and offered to buy me whatever I wanted from the menu.” Emma chuckles as she remembers something. “Back then, I thought the same thing you did, thought this place was a dump, but I figured bad food is still food so I accepted her offer.”

 

“You rave about the food now so it must’ve been—“

 

“Terrible!” Emma blurts out, chuckling as she remembers how the grilled cheese she was served had burned bread but cheese that managed not to melt. “And I was just as opinionated back then as I am now and told her as much.”

 

“Emma!” Regina scolds her like she’s talking to teenage Emma. 

 

“What?! She asked me how the food was and I gave her constructive criticism! I was doing my civic duty.” Emma grins, “Turns out she knew the food was bad but wasn’t a chef, just a home cook that didn’t feel knowledgeable enough to criticize her chefs. She appreciated my honesty and I told her to suck it up and fight for her business.”

 

“ _ Emma _ . _ ” _

 

“She agreed with me! Hell, Ingrid liked me so much she hired me to waitress under the table. I even taste tested the chefs coming in for interviews and helped her pick.” Emma thinks back on that time of her life with a nostalgic smile and Regina watches on with utter fascination. The blonde hardly ever spoke about her past. It was a sore spot, so Regina avoided bringing it up and absorbed every tidbit Emma revealed over time. Because of that, she recognizes the name.

 

“Ingrid... you’ve spoken about her before?” Regina asks.

 

Emma leans back and sags into the booth’s cushioning. “Yeah, she was my last foster home. I was with her for four years... without her, I don’t think I would’ve finished high school or gone to college.” 

 

Treading carefully, Regina stares at the tabletop and asks, “Do you keep in touch?”

 

The left side of Emma’s mouth ticks downward before, “She, uh, took her own life during my first few months away at college.” Emma clears her throat and looks away, and Regina’s heart drops. “She took a bunch of pills and went to sleep... and that was that. I didn’t even notice she was feeling like that.” 

 

Regina slides her hand across the table and turns it over so her palm is upward. She waits until Emma’s hand slips into hers before she says, “It’s easy to fake a smile, Emma. You didn’t notice because she didn’t want you to.” 

 

Regina knows this all too well. She never tried to hide her misery at the mansion or with her parents, but at dinner parties or company events, she played the part Leopold assigned her and no one was the wiser to her plight. In fact, they called her The Evil Queen behind her back, said she was too stoic and obviously a gold-digger, and painted her as the villain. They knew  _ nothing _ . 

 

“Losing her almost ruined my life. I started drinking too much, getting myself into trouble, forging all the wrong friendships. That’s about the time I met Neal. I was never attracted to guys and he wasn’t an exception, but I was lonely and he was the only one willing to help me forget. Sometimes I think back and see the red flags, but I always say it was worth it if I can one day see my kid again.”

 

“ _ When _ you see him again. Not if.” Regina corrects, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Once I get settled at the company, we could start looking?” 

 

Emma smiles for the first time since this topic came up. “I’d like that.” Emma sighs in that way that tells Regina the emotional moment is over and lifts her menu to peruse dozens of items on it. Regina follows suit but keeps glancing over as Emma finishes the story from earlier, “Anyway, after Ingrid passed, some young girl—Dorothy, I think—bought it and changed the name and the design but she kept the chefs and the same quality of food. I like to stop in whenever I’m in the area. Even though it looks a lot different, it makes me feel close to her again. And the food is amazing now, thanks to yours truly.”

 

“Well, since you’re such an expert, what should I get?” Regina props her menu open and scans the left side quickly, disregarding the salad section since she’s been craving something a bit more filling. Though part of her is wondering if she should watch what she eats as she’s gained ten pounds since Leopold’s death, the loudest part of her just wants to let loose after years of restrictive dieting. In this moment, she might have to find a healthy balance between the two.

 

“Depends on what you’re looking for. The baked salmon with russet potatoes are a great choice if you’re counting calories, but the burgers are out of this world.” Emma grabs the side of Regina’s menu and pulls down so she can flip to the burger section. Regina’s eyes bulge at the amount of options. 

 

Emma decides on a bacon cheeseburger with cheese fries while Regina tries to display a modicum of control and goes for the slightly healthier greek turkey burger and garlicky green beans. Emma pouts at her selection but concedes that it’s as good as the rest of the food and Emma just isn’t a fan of turkey being where good old meat should be. 

 

“You can steal some of my cheese fries if you want!” Emma offers before taking a large sip from her bottled water. 

 

Regina smooths out her loose silk blouse and runs her palm across her fleshy stomach. Uncomfortably shifting in her seat, she says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Hmm?” Emma hums against the lip of the bottle and swallows quickly to add, “Why not?”

 

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the extra weight...” Regina sighs at Emma’s stupefied expression.

 

“Uh, yeah, I noticed the curves. They’re sexy as hell, Regina.” Emma’s eyes dart down to examine Regina’s fuller breasts, an area that’s gotten more shape and contour since Leopold’s funeral. Her mind flashes to that curvaceous ass bouncing with every thrust of her hips and she has to gulp almost the entire bottle to cool down. 

 

“Really?” Regina looks vulnerable and in need of reassurance and Emma gladly steps up.

 

“Regina, you’re beautiful and sexy and desirable. Firstly, you’d be all of those things no matter what the scale says, okay? But you’re fine. You’re healthy and you make me weak at the knees by just breathing. If you’re really worried about it, we can exercise together a few times a week and maybe buy a book for healthy recipes and cook dinner together. That’d be fun, actually.” 

 

Relief floods the brunette and she feels a tremendous amount of appreciation for the woman she loves. “Thank you, Emma.”

 

“It’ll be my pleasure...” Emma smirks, “Plus, I hear sex is quite a workout.”

 

“Especially ours.” Regina quirks a seductive brow, remembering how she almost broke Snow’s bed from riding Emma’s third purchase a bit too vigorously. 

 

“Okay, we need to stop this cause I’m getting horny.” Emma pulls her hand back from where it was clasped between Regina’s and exhales hurriedly. 

 

Regina grins, feeling mischievous, “Don’t worry, darling. After lunch, I’m sure we could find a quiet spot and put the mattress in the back of the truck to good use.”

 

A pained groan is heard throughout the diner. Zelena snaps her gum and rolls her eyes at the two women, who are obviously and disgustingly in love. How nauseating.

 

* * *

 

In the small, secluded parking lot of an abandoned warehouse three blocks from the highway, the U-Haul truck rocks back and forth and jolts rhythmically. 

 

With only their cell phone flashlights brightening the dark space, Regina rides Emma’s mouth hard and fast and Emma scrambles to hold those full hips so she can latch onto the little nub that's bumping into her nose. 

 

“Oh,  _ fuck! _ ” Regina yelps as her thighs start to quake. She reaches back to circle Emma’s clit with her thumb and they both begin shaking as they come closer and closer to the orgasm they’ve been chasing for twenty minutes, though most of that time was taken by Emma’s thorough exploration of Regina’s pussy. She dragged her tongue across each fold, let the appendage thrust in and out of her entrance and curl every which way, then sucked at the freshly shaven labia. 

 

They come so loud that the echo is deafening and Regina releases enough cum to soak Emma’s chin.

 

They certainly worked off those calories. 

 

* * *

 

They reach upstate New York before Emma decides to stop at a hotel for the night. Regina’s a bit disappointed. She hoped to make it to the apartment tonight but she knows Emma must be dead on her feet. She would drive the rest but she’s already confessed she’s afraid to drive in the city so Emma won’t let her behind the wheel, especially at night. 

 

They settle into the small but clean and tidy room on the second floor of the hotel with only Emma’s small suitcase. Regina stares at it as Emma pulls out pajamas for them both and shivers at the memory of what’s beneath the clothing. 

 

They’ve been insatiable since Emma arrived in Storybrooke. They tested every single toy Emma purchased. Emma used the smooth toy in the guest room Regina was sleeping in. The strapless vibrating toy was utilized at Leopold’s desk. The long, thick baby blue toy was ridden forcefully on Snow’s bed. 

 

A small purple toy was given a test drive in the kitchen, with Regina’s back pressed against the refrigerator while Emma pounded into her. They were forced to take a break and wipe down the steel when they turned to discover Regina’s silhouette painted onto the stainless steel because of her sweat. That one wasn’t her favorite. It didn’t fill her as well as the others. Emma made up for it by dropping to her knees and licking her to completion. 

 

She rode Emma’s longer, but much thinner, red cock in the outdoor hot tub. Emma then dragged her to the living room, where they exchanged Christmas presents all those months ago, and inserted a more bulbous strapless toy into herself before beckoning Regina to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. 

 

Regina then asked for a break, feeling much too sore for more at that moment. They napped for an hour on that rug and cuddled. Once they woke up, Emma laid worship to her nipples and got Regina even more wet than she was before. She then flipped her over and took her from behind, making sure to keep her feminine hands on the rug in front of them, right in Regina’s sights. 

 

In a spur of the moment adrenaline rush, Regina dragged Emma and the seventh toy to the pond at the edge of the property. At least Emma had the presence of mind to bring the throw blanket that had been draped over the living room couch along. 

 

There, right under a large oak tree with birds chirping and the sound of water sloshing, Emma tucked her head in the crook of Regina’s neck and made love to her with a much thicker and longer dildo, one that Regina nearly protested against when she saw its size but she was so wet that Emma was able to slip into her without much resistance. Surprisingly, for the first time in her life, she was able to come without her clit being touched. She’s actually looking forward to using that one again and having Emma rub at her nub while she fucks her with it. She shudders at the thought of the orgasm that could come from that. 

 

Then, as the sun set, Emma took her back to the upstairs den, where Regina threw her down and took the seventh dildo, still wet with her cum, and sucked it clean. The base hitting Emma’s clit just right gave the blonde her second orgasm of that day. But the last toy, one similar to the red one from the hot tub, was worn by Regina, who pleaded to let her try. She was tired of being taken and wanted to  _ take _ .  _ And did she ever.  _ She didn’t stop until Emma came twice. 

 

And of course—she squeezes her thighs together as Emma whips off her t-shirt and stands in front of her in a lacy bra that leaves nothing to the imagination—she can’t forget their moment of passion in the truck earlier today. She can’t forget any moment with this woman, truthfully, but the intimacy, vulnerability, and safety she feels in her arms cannot be understated. 

 

She softens, her smile losing its lustful gleam. Emma’s eyes are drooping and her movements are sluggish, so sex is off the table. And Regina’s fine with that. They never really had many chances to just be together, in each other arms, wrapped around one another, and now she craves it more than any orgasm. 

 

She feels a rush of love swell up in her chest and the words just fall out as Emma tugs on pajama shorts with little cartoon baseballs on them. “Emma?” The blonde hums tiredly and Regina smiles. “I love you.” 

 

Emma senses something different, something like reverence or awe, in Regina’s voice, and whips her head around to search her brown eyes for evidence of it and finds it in abundance. 

 

She fights her exhaustion to saunter over to the brunette, to reach out and slide her hands to cup Regina’s blushing cheeks and let her fingers massage the sensitive skin behind her ears. She leans down and kisses her lips chastely, not looking to add heat or passion but just to connect with her intimately, then towers over her, forcing Regina to tilt her head back to keep their lips pressed together. 

 

“I love you too.” Emma murmurs quietly against the corner of Regina’s mouth. She moves to her ear and whispers against the sensitive skin there, “You  _ are _ my sun. _ ” _

 

Regina’s eyes burn as she remembers that phrase being whispered over and over as they laid together, bare and vulnerable, in the guest room months ago. No matter how many times Emma affirms it, it always strikes a chord within her.

 

Perhaps all of the pain was worth enduring if it lead her right here. Emma pulls her in, holds her close and makes her feel like the center of the universe.  _ Yes, _ Regina thinks,  _ it was worth it. _

 

* * *

 

The apartment is huge, much larger than any single person would need, but she can’t help but envision a day where a little boy would litter the floor with toys and make a mess of it. There are three guest rooms that could easily fit a growing family. Though she doesn’t mention any of this to Emma in case the blonde isn’t in that mindset yet. 

 

Her new residence is the penthouse of a high rise building about ten minutes away from Emma’s in Manhattan. It’s a single story but takes up the entire floor of the building with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large eat-in kitchen, and a study with a hell of a view of the city. It’s empty when she arrives and remembers Snow mentioning that she’d send movers to collect her father’s things. Still, she’ll need to redecorate as soon as she can. The style is currently too reminiscent of the mansion she just fled. 

 

“ _ Damn _ ,” Emma whistles, “You’re living large, Mills.” 

 

Regina just smirks at her, not wanting to reveal too much around the men hurriedly bringing her neatly packed boxes from the truck into the apartment. Then, “I actually should get to Enchanted and meet with Spencer. Want to split a taxi with me?”

 

“Split? You’re a millionaire now, lady. I expected to be pampered like a proper sugar baby.” Emma wiggles her eyebrows as Regina smacks her bicep.

 

* * *

 

The staff goes silent when she steps off the elevator and casually waltzes into the lobby of top floor at Enchanted. They’re all staring at her, some seem intrigued or indifferent while others seem skeptical of her. She doesn’t pay it any mind though. She’ll make them respect her later. For now, she needs to speak to the interim CEO.

 

“I’m here to see Albert Spencer.” She says to the young, doe-eyed blonde behind the front desk who looks much too nervous. 

 

Despite her anxiety, she quickly follows the orders and pages Spencer on the phone. She speaks in hushed tones but Regina can hear an angry voice on the other side of the line ranting from a foot away. She hangs up then turns to her and tries to plaster on a smile that wobbles too much to be genuine. 

 

“He will see you now.” She points down the left side of the floor to a large office where an older man is pacing agitatedly by the windows as if no one can see him through the glass wall.

 

Regina thanks her then starts making her way toward the largest office in the building. She silently contemplates how she’ll design the space to fit her tastes. Out of consideration, she knocks gently on the glass door and waits for him to huff for her to enter.

 

“Mrs. White,” He says it amicably enough but his handshake is firm enough to be threatening. Regina doesn’t flinch. “What a surprise to see you so soon. I was hoping to speak with Snow before you arrived.”

 

_ Oh _ . Well... Regina’s not sure what to say to that. She decides to skip over that tidbit and introduce herself. “Hello, Albert. Please, call me Miss Mills.” 

 

“Miss Mills... of course.” He clears his throat and unbuttons his jacket, fidgeting as he stares her down. “I’m sure you meant well when you took this position, but, if I may be candid, you have no experience in this industry.” The  _ nor in any other  _ is implied. “You may very well sink this ship, sweetheart.”

 

Regina’s hands curls into fists at the condescending pet name. “Mister Spencer, Snow White handed me this position. Are you saying she has bad judgment?” 

 

His mouth opens and closes, floundering for an answer that wouldn’t insult the name of the White family inheritor. “No, of course not—“

 

“Then she must’ve chosen me for good reason, wouldn’t you agree?” Regina waits for the answer and bites the inside of her cheek so she doesn’t smirk victoriously at his frustration. He just nods despite the tick in his jaw and the fire in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear we’re on the same page. Now, I’d like your things out of my office by tomorrow. Understood?”

 

Victoriously, she turns to leave but ends up nose to nose with Sidney Glass and jolts. He smiles impishly despite seeming uncomfortable and glancing between Regina and Albert. He finally settles his gaze on Regina and says, “Welcome to Enchanted, ma’am. Everyone is quite nervous with all the rumors swirling about your leadership. I thought it’d be prudent if we get the workers together tonight so you can reassure them.”

 

Regina scoffs, “Tonight? No, there’s no way I could prepare remarks in that time.”

 

Sidney’s grin falls. “Oh, don’t worry, Miss Mills. I prepared all of Mister White’s speeches and can do the same for you.”  

 

Regina nods succinctly then pushes past him. She hears him yell the time and place for the speech at her back as she walks away from the judgmental glares and fearful stares of people who aren’t sure whether the trophy wife will be able to fill her dead husband’s shoes. 

 

* * *

 

Regina peeks out from behind the red curtain separating her and Sidney from at least five hundred employees. The Enchanted theater is packed to the teeth and the rumblings of conversation are loud enough to make the whole room vibrate. 

 

“Here, Miss Mills. It’s a quick, succinct speech. Nothing too grand.” Sidney hands her a sheet with a typed up generic speech on it and she purses her lips.

 

“Is Miss Swan here yet?” Regina asks. She messaged Emma earlier but the blonde had been busy on the phone, scouting for the next episodes chef, and helping to edit the last episode. She promised she’d try to make it, but the time was rapidly approaching and Regina couldn’t start late and give everyone a bad impression of their new CEO. 

 

“No...” Sidney mutters guiltily and Regina narrows her eyes at him. He clears his throat. “I’d suggest you read over the speech so you don’t sound robotic on stage. Good luck, Miss Mills. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

 

He scampers off without waiting for a response but she does take his advice and starts skimming through the speech in her hand. It’s more than generic, it’s plain and uninspiring and doesn’t feel like the first impression she wants to give, but she can’t write anything better now.

 

“Thirty seconds, ma’am,” She hears the stage manager say from the side and promptly gets into position at the podium in the center of the stage.

 

Behind her there’s a large screen with the Enchanted logo on it. It’s the letter  _ E _ in a special font that usually is used for the  _ O _ in the phrase  _ once upon a time _ in most fairytale books. It’s uninspired, just like her speech and most of the current programming on the network. Can she really change all of this? Can she really mold this foundation into a company that’s hers, that has her flair and style?

 

This doubt has her inhaling deeply in search of the air that’s quickly left her lungs in her panic. 

 

“Hey!” Regina whips around to see Emma smiling proudly on the side of the stage. “You got this!” 

 

Regina nearly cries out as the air in the room suddenly feels less heavy. Because yes, she can do this and she can make this company better. Emma believed in her when no one else did and now... now, she has to believe in herself. 

 

The curtains start sliding open and she breathes out as Emma gives her a parting wink before jogging away from her sight. She’s not sure where she’s going but the knowledge that she can hear her is enough to make her straighten her spine and face the humongous crowd in front of her. 

 

The rumbling of conversation slowly webs to silence and Regina clears her throat away from the microphone. She can only see a few rows in front of her but can feel the hundreds of eyes on her. 

 

“Hello, everyone. It’s my pleasure to be here today and speak with you all.” Regina pauses to gather herself. She stares at her speech and purses her lips at it.

 

She shakes her head and pockets the paper. Her employees don’t need an emotionless drone to speak to them. They need  _ her _ . When she looks to the audience, she sees Emma taking a seat in the middle of the first row, right in front of her, and lets that encouraging gaze warm her. From there, the words come naturally. “I am Regina Mills. I am the new CEO of Enchanted Television Corporation. And, perhaps most importantly, I am a dreamer.”

 

“Just a year ago, I was a lonely, miserable housewife that stayed home all day and night, with no friends to speak to, with no prospects for the future, with no ambition to speak of. But when I turned on the television... I could dream. I could be Fa Mulan and cook sweet and sour pork and kiss my fiancée on national television and show young girls everywhere that love is diverse and can’t be restrained.”

 

She points to a Cuban actress sitting in the second row, “I could be a strong-willed Latina police officer from the Bronx that rose the ranks to join homicide. I could be fearless, brave, and protect those I cared about.” She smiles when she sees pure admiration in the actresses eyes.

 

She eyes a Palestinian woman on the corner of the first row, “I could be Inaya Alvi and travel to ancient excavation sites to unravel mysteries of our past. I could follow my dreams and stoke passion in an audience for stories long forgotten.” The woman bows her head in silent thanks.

 

She points to a black man in the third row, “I could be Jackson Fox’s co-anchor and break all the hard-hitting news stories.” His loud shout of  _ and be the first one to break ‘em!  _ echoes through the theater, which incites warm chuckles. Her smile grows. 

 

She’s pointed out the few people of color on the network, people that never got as much praise and attention as the other shows, and she can see how much it means to them. 

 

Her eyes land on the front row once more. “I could be Emma Swan, a young inexperienced director given the chance of a lifetime and bringing one of the highest rated cooking shows into millions of homes around the world.” Emma discreetly blows her kiss and Regina’s confidence grows as appreciative whistles come from all over.

 

“When I turned on Enchanted, I could be anyone I saw on that screen if I just dreamed hard enough. And  _ that’s _ the magic of television! It’s not money, or net worth, or accolades. It’s young children seeing themselves in the characters we create. It’s giving our audience accurate information first and making sure they get the full picture from every angle. It’s telling stories that touch the hearts and minds of people of different races, ethnicities, genders, sexualities, and religions, and bringing them all together to see that our differences are what makes us all unique, maybe even special.” 

 

Regina pauses and smiles as the heat from the lights of the stage warm her face. “Our greatest power is our ability to inspire. And if we do that? Well, the rest will follow.” 

 

An awed silence falls over them. 

 

“I know I’m young. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal. I know I’m not the most experienced person for this job,” She eyes Albert Spencer sitting right in the first row, who looks decidedly more intrigued by her. She stares toward the upper balcony of the theater, toward the dark shadows where a hundred or more employees are looking down on her, enraptured.

 

“But I’m a dreamer, just like millions of our viewers, and I will keep moving forward, keep fighting for this company and all of those that comprise it, until millions more dream alongside us.” The room stays silent, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. With a satisfied nod, she adds, “Thank you.” 

 

What she doesn’t expect when she leans back from microphone is the deafening applause that erupts in the theater. There’s whistles and clapping and employees jumping to their feet. All eyes she connects with have a spark of excitement and she suddenly realizes that these people got into this business for the love of the art and her speech awakened a part of them that had been buried beneath numbers and dollar signs. 

 

Perhaps they need her just as much as she needs them.

 

* * *

 

It takes Sidney two months to find him. He’s only three years old but he’s bounced around foster homes a few times, never adopted and never stayed in a home for too long. When he turned two, they shipped him to an orphanage in Tallahassee, where a strict nun named Faith Blue assigned him to a young nun named Nova, who thankfully answered Sidney’s questions about the boy despite the fact she wasn’t supposed to. 

 

Emma nearly collapsed when she was told they found him and Regina’s knees wobbled when Sidney revealed the boys name, one he was given by Nova early on. 

 

Over the phone, Nova giggles nervously and has trouble explaining how she came upon the name. “It may sound strange but the night I was assigned to the boy, I dreamed of a man who loved him and that was the man’s name, and I didn’t particularly enjoy calling the boy John. It seemed too impersonal.”

 

Regina doesn’t know if she believes in a god or an afterlife but that experience keeps her from disbelieving until the very day she dies. 

 

They arrive at the orphanage on a weekday afternoon when all the nuns are taking the older children to a nearby park after their lessons. Nova meets them at the front door and smiles like she’s won the lottery.

 

“I love your boy, Miss Swan. I’m just so happy you’ve come for him.” She says and Emma nearly cries at the sincere and caring gleam in the nuns eyes. “I will get him.” Nova notices how tense both women are and reaches out to stroke their hands as she reassures them. “He’s a very sweet boy. You don’t have to be nervous.” 

 

That doesn’t stop Regina from wringing her hands together or Emma from pacing the foyer of the orphanage. Snow stands behind them silently but squeezes both of their shoulders encouragingly. She’s taken time out of her busy schedule to come down for moral support. Plus, she plans to spoil Emma’s son and become an unofficial godparent to him. 

 

When they see him, Emma’s nerves melt away, because he’s beautiful and he’s smiling at them without any shyness or fear, and Emma starts crying right then and there. The boy only has eyes for Regina though. His big green eyes are darting all over her, from her sleek black hair to her brown, tearful eyes, to her hands flat over her stomach, a clear outward sign of her anxiety.  

 

“Hi!” He yells, having no concept of an inside voice yet, and Regina chuckles slightly at his lisp. Before she can even gather herself, the boy is lunging out of Nova’s arms and flying into Regina’s chest, wrapping around her like a koala. Emma watches on, amused and with more love in her heart than ever before. 

 

“Hello,” Regina returns his wide smile and inhales that soft scent of baby shampoo still lingering on his hair. “I’m Regina.”

 

He giggles for no reason whatsoever, showing off the gaps where his baby teeth have yet to grow in. “Hi, I’m Henry!”

 

Regina’s eyes water, “What a lovely name.” 

 

His chubby fingers splat on her cheeks and he bounces in her arms in excitement as he says, “Are you my mommy?!” 

 

And, well, Regina suddenly feels like she’s always been his mom, even before she knew him. He waits patiently for a response while Snow and Emma practically hold their breath. Regina reaches up to push his soft brown hair out of his eyes. “Yes, my love.  _ We _ are.”

 

Regina slyly points to Emma, who’s wiping tears from her face with her sleeve but still smiling like an idiot. Henry smiles at her too. “I have two mommies?” He asks. Regina whispers a soft  _ yes _ and he giggles.  _ “ _ Yay!”

 

Then he reaches out toward Emma and the blonde nearly bear hugs him, crying into that full head of hair he has. He’s such a sweet boy that he lets her and even cuddles into her embrace, like he’s been waiting for someone to love him like this. 

 

Regina reaches over to rub soothing circles on Emma’s back and when Emma finally lays her cheek on Henry’s head and looks at her, it feels like all the puzzle pieces just clicked together. 

 

* * *

 

“Henry, what did I say about running in the apartment?”

 

“Sorry!” 

 

He definitely didn’t sound sorry, which should’ve frustrated her but she enjoys every second with this boy, especially after those first few months when Emma didn’t live with her and she didn’t get to see Henry as much as she does now, so she can’t find it in her to be upset when he disobeys. Emma tells her she’s the pushover between the two of them. 

 

Henry’s laying flat on his back when she gets to the living room, leaving him wide open for a tickle attack, which Regina  _ never _ passes up. She jumps on him, careful not to put weight on him, and starts running her fingernails softly down his sides as he screams playfully. She yells, “ _ I gotcha! _ ”

 

“No!” He pleads breathlessly and she pretends to purse her lips in thought. 

 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I only stop tickling boys that love me.” Regina tries to keep a straight face as his eyes bulge.

 

“I’m a boy that loves you!” Regina still smiles every time. She harrumphs jokingly and lets him go with a side eye. He grins into the couch cushions and watches her with one eye as she reaches for the remote.

 

When she turns on the news, she sees Jackson Fox looking handsome and eerily serious. She nearly flies off the couch when a photo of her mother appears on screen. She hasn’t seen or spoken to her in months, though Sidney has informed her that Cora’s tried to meddle in her financials and business deals several times only to be thwarted each time. 

 

“In a bombshell scoop published by the New York Times just a few minutes ago, a raid on a notorious crime syndicate on the east coast has lead investigators to evidence of election rigging and conspiracy to defraud an election. Cora Mills, shown to my left, was taken out of Storybrooke’s city hall in handcuffs this afternoon after—“

 

Regina phone starts blaring and she answers it without checking, thinking it’s Emma calling to talk about the news story. It’s not. 

 

“Hello, dearie. I’m assuming you’ve seen the breaking news?” 

 

Regina checks on Henry, satisfied when she sees him playing with Legos, then turns her back for privacy. “You did this?” 

 

“Did you think I forgot about our arrangement?”

 

“Well, truthfully? Yes! It’s been months, Gold.” Regina huffs.

 

“True justice takes time, dearie. You said you didn’t want her dead, so... here we are.” Gold sounds so smug, like he didn’t lose a huge outpost in Boston just to out Cora and get her arrested. Although, one outpost to a man with thousands at his command is a small price, she supposes.

 

As odd as it sounds for her to be grateful that he got her mother arrested, she does feel immense relief knowing the older woman can no longer meddle in her affairs and try to sabotage her success and happiness. She built Enchanted a new brand, a new following, grew it to new profit margins and skyrocketed its popularity, especially among millennials and younger generations. She has a loving partner and a _Henry_. _.._ a _son_. She would not let her mother take anything away from her again. 

 

“Congratulations, Regina.” He says after a few moments of silence. “You’re free now.”

 

“Yes,” Regina peers over her should at the boy pressing two plastic blocks together, “I am.” 

 

* * *

 

They settle into a busy life in New York quite easily. 

 

Regina works hard, long hours at the headquarters. She already revamped the corporations logo to match the pendant Emma got her for Christmas. It’s a silver tree with stretched out branches that spell out the letter  _ E _ in the center of the tree top. 

 

She cancelled the stale shows with low viewership that were kept solely because they followed Leopold’s vision and helped fill the lineup with more diverse actors, show premises, and characters, and it’s worked well for them. The audience  _ does _ want diversity and Regina proved that fairly quickly. 

 

She really did fire Robin, much to Emma’s extreme delight, and hired Marian Hood in his place. The  _ real _ Marian Hood, that is. That karmic justice fueled her for weeks. Marian fit in well with the  _ On The Dinner Table _ crew and actually became close friends with both Emma and Regina. Roland and Henry have play dates while the adults gossip about sleazy ex-husbands or office drama. 

 

Emma kept bringing heart warming chefs and stories to set and the audience never stopped rewarding that. In fact, Emma’s show is the only one that consistently stays strong no matter what events are going on the same day her episode’s air. That success has gotten her calls from screenwriters looking to hire her and big time directors looking to mentor her. She does take small jobs on the side but she’s fallen in love with her cooking show and wants to stay in the present for a little while longer before focusing on what’s next.

 

Henry settled into his new life with enthusiasm and easily wormed his way into everyone’s hearts, including a much more mellow Mulan, whose biological clock started ticking the moment Henry gave her that toothy grin the first time. Aurora still wants to bask in her honeymoon phase though. Plus, a pregnant Mulan might just kill them all. 

 

Snow decided to run for mayor of Storybrooke in its special elections that will be held later this year. She’s been having fun campaigning and putting all of her internship knowledge and skills to good use. She also has had Enchanted playing her campaign commercials, which Emma conceptualized, directed, and edited. The polls are in her corner. So is David Nolan, who left the crew and Abigail (who’s now dating this gym teacher that makes her smile like no one else has in a long time) behind to move to Storybrooke and work at the local animal shelter. He and Snow have been nauseating but Emma’s just glad she’s happy... kind of. As long as she doesn’t have to  _ see _ it. She still can’t forget the time she walked in on them post-coitus during a surprise visit to Storybrooke. 

 

Everything feels calm and settled and wonderful, which is why Regina nearly chokes on air one afternoon right before Halloween when Emma steps up behind her and says, “We should move to Storybrooke.” 

 

“ _ What?! _ ”

 

“Okay, hear me out.” Emma lifts her hands in a silently plea to let her talk. As if Regina can even find the words she needs to argue. “Storybrooke is a cookie-cutter place with great schools, where everyone knows each other, where houses have picket fences, and that’s all I wanted as a kid. And I just...”

 

“You want that for Henry.” Regina whispers.

 

“Yeah,” Emma exhales each letter dramatically. “We could be close to Snow and David, and I could still fly to locations for filming but I can do everything else over the phone or through FaceTime. You could open up the Enchanted sub-building in Storybrooke that’s been temporarily shut down since Leo’s death and work from there. I think... I think I’m ready to lay down some roots and I want it to be in a place surrounded by loved ones, where people know each other’s names, and all that.”

 

Regina bites her lower lip and nods in acknowledgment. Storybrooke is where her father lived, where she used to ride horses, where Ruby used to rush over and save her from Leo’s wrath simply out of the kindness of her heart, and where she learned to be loved by the woman asking her for something when she never asks for anything. 

 

She nods again. “Okay, darling. Let’s move to Storybrooke.”

 

* * *

 

Nearly a decade later, after marriage and everything else life had to throw at them, Regina still feels like Emma’s sun, like the universe revolves around her—well, her  _ and _ Henry. 

 

Perhaps Fate isn’t cruel at all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Please make sure to check out the art that accompanies this story and show my artist some love!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [you burn brighter than the sun (and i'm coming undone) [fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781833) by [SpeedRacer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeedRacer/pseuds/SpeedRacer)




End file.
